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11 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


SERMONS 


PBEAOHED    AT 


TRINITY   CHAPEL,    BRIGHTON 


BY     THE     LATB 


REV.  FREDERICK  W.  ROBERTSON,  M.  A., 

THE     INCCUBEHT. 


SECOND  SERIES, 


TENTH  AMERICAN,  FROM    THE    FIFTH    LONDON   EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
T  I  C  K  N  ()  H      AND      F  I  E  I.  1>  S . 

M  nrrci.xvr. 


5  # 

^    at 


So 
THE    CONGREGATION 

WORSHIPPING    IN 

TRINITY     CHAPEL,     BRIGHTON, 

FBOM   AUGUST   15,    1847,    TO    AUGUST    15,   1863 
THESB 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  SERMONS 

PREACHED    BT    THEIR    LATE    PASTOR 

ARE  DEDICATED 

WITH 

FEELINGS  OF  GRATEFUL  RESPECT. 


<~?,.«  rrc^Jr?/: 


LGv'G9 


PREFACE 

TO    THE    FIRST    ENGLISH    EDITION. 

In  the  preface  to  the  First  Volume  I  explained 
the  circumstances  under  which  these  Sermons  were 
preserved,  and  it  is  not  therefore  necessary  for  me 
to  do  more  now  than  allude  to  that  preface,  in  pub- 
lishing this  Second  Volume.  But  I  cannot  forbear 
taking  this  opportunity  of  gratefully  acknowledging 
the  numerous  tributes  to  my  dear  Brother's  useful- 
ness which  I  have  received  since  the  First  Volume 
was  issued. 

Two  years  have  now  passed  since  those  earnest 
and  eloquent  lips  were  silent  in  death;  yet  I  am 
assured  that  his  teaching  is  still  remembered  with 
love  and  gratitude;  and  I  have  a  confident  hope 
that  the  publication  of  these  Sermons,  imperfect  as 
they  are,  and  confessedly  inadequate  to  the  full 
representation  of  the  grace  and  power  which  char- 
!•  (5) 


6  PREFACE  TO   THE   FIRST  ENGLISH   EDITION. 

acterized  his  ministry,  will  be  a  means  of  continuing 
the  blessed  work  which  he  did  in  his  lifetime,  and 
thus  many  who  never  saw  his  face  may  receive  a 
lasting  benefit  from  his  teaching. 

STRUAN  HOBERTSON. 
Rodney  Housb,  Cheltenham. 


^ 


CONTENTS. 


MEMOIR Page  13 

SERMON   I. 

[Preached  June  22,  1851.] 

CHRIST'S  JUDGMENT  RESPECTING  INHERITANCE.* 

LuKB  xii.  13-15. —  •'  And  one  of  the  company  said  unto  him,  Master, 
speak  to  my  brother,  that  he  divide  the  inheritance  with  me.  And  he 
said  unto  him,  Man,  who  made  me  a  judge,  or  a  divider  over  you  ? 
And  he  said  unto  them,  Take  heed,  and  beware  of  covetousness  :  for 
a  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  which  ho 
possesseth." 17 

SERMON    II. 

[Preached  January  6,  1850.] 

THE    STAR    IN    THE    EAST. 

Matt.  ii.  1,  2.  —  "  Now  when  Jesus  was  bom  in  Bethlehem  of  Judea 
in  the  days  of  Herod  the  king,  behold  there  came  wise  men  from  the 
east  to  Jerusalem,  saying.  Where  is  he  that  is  born  King  of  the 
Jews?  for  we  have  seen  his  star  in  the  east,  and  are  come  to  worship 
him." 46 

*  This  Sermon  should  have  followed  next  after  Sermon  XVII.  in  Volume 
I.  (The  Message  of  the  Church  to  Men  of  Wealth),  to  which  it  ia  the 
sequel,  completing  the  argument. 

(7) 


?/  CONTENTS. 

SERMON     III. 

[Preached  FebrUary  10,  1850.] 

THE    HEALING    OF    JAIRUS'    DAUGHTER. 

Matt.  ii.  23-25.  —  *'  And  when  Jesus  came  into  the  ruler's  house,  and 
saw  the  minstrels  and  the  people  making  a  noise,  he  said  unto  them, 
Give  place  ;  for  the  maid  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth.  And  they  laughed 
him  to  scorn.  But  when  the  people  were  put  forth,  he  went  in,  and 
took  her  by  the  hand,  and  the  maid  arose." Page  60 

SERMON    IV. 

[Preached  March  10,  1850.] 
BAPTISM. 

Gal.  iii.  26-29.  —  "For  ye  are  all  the  children  of  God  by  faith  in  Christ 
Jesus.  For  as  many  of  you  as  have  been  baptized  into  Christ  have 
put  on  Christ.  There  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  there  is  neither  bond 
nor  free,  there  is  neither  male  nor  female  :  for  ye  are  all  one  in  Christ 
Jesus.  And  if  ye  be  Christ's,  then  are  ye  Abraham's  seed,  and  heirs 
according  to  the  promise." 75 

SERMON   V. 

[Preached  March  17,  1850.] 
BAPTISM. 

1  Peteh  iii.  21.  — "The  like  figure  whercunto,  even  baptism,  doth  also 
now  save  us." 92 

SERMON    VI. 

[Preached  October  13,  1850.] 
ELIJAH. 

1  Kings  lix.  4.  — "  But  he  himself  went  on  a  day's  journey  into  the 
wilderness,  and  came  and  sat  down  under  a  juniper-tree  ;  and  he 
requested  for  himself  that  he  might  die  ;  and  said.  It  is  enough  :  now, 
0  Lord,  take  away  my  life  ;  for  I  am  not  better  than  my  fathers." 

106 


CONTENTS.  § 

SERMON    VII. 

[Preached  January  12,  1851.] 
NOTES    ON    PSALM    LI. 
Written  by  David,  after  a  double  crime  :  Uriah  put  in  the  forefront  of 
the  battle, — the  wife  of  the  murdered  man  taken,  &c.  .  «    .  Page  117 

SERMON     VIII. 

[Preached  March  2,  1851.] 

OBEDIENCE  THE  ORGAN   OF   SPIRITUAL  KNOWLEDGE. 

John  vii.  17.  —  "  If  any  man  will  do  his  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doc- 
trine, whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak  of  myself."  .   .   .  128 

SERMON    IX. 

[Preached  March,  30,  1851.] 
RELIGIOUS  DEPRESSION. 
Psalm  xlii.  1-3.  —  "As  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water-brooks,  so 
panteth  my  soul  after  thee,  0  God.  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  for 
the  living  God ;  when  shall  I  come  and  appear  before  God  ?  My  tears 
have  been  my  meat  day  and  night,  while  they  continually  say  unto  me, 
Where  is  thy  God  7" 141 

SERMON    X. 

[Preached  April  6,  1851.] 
FAITH    OF    THE    CENTURION. 
Matt.  viii.  10.  — "  When  Jesus  heard  it,  he  marvelled,  and  said  to  them 
that  followed.  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  I  have  not  found  so  great  faith, 
no,  not  in  IsraeL" 149 

SERMON    XI. 

[Preached  July  27,  1851.] 
THE    RESTORATION    OF    THE    ERRING. 
Gal.  vi  1,2.  —  "  Brethren,  if  a  man  be  overtaken  in  a  fault,  ye  which 
are  spiritual  restore  such  an  one  in  the  spirit  of  meekness  ;  consid- 
ering thyself,  lest  thou  also  be  tempted.     Bear  ye  one  another's  bur- 
dens, and  so  fulfil  the  law  of  Christ."    160 


t0  CONTENTS. 

SERMON    XII. 

[Pteached  Christmas  Day,  1851.] 
CHRIST    THE    SON. 

Hkb.  i.  1.  —  "  God,  who  at  sundry  times,  and  in  divers  manners,  spak« 
in  time  past  unto  the  fathers  by  the  prophets,  hath  in  these  last  days 
spoken  unto  us  by  his  Son." Page  172 

SERMON    XIII. 

[Preached  April  25,  1852.] 
WORLDLINESS. 

1  John  ii.  15-17.  —  "  If  any  man  love  the  world,  the  love  of  the  Father 
is  not  in  him.  For  all  that  is  in  the  world,  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  and 
the  lust  of  the  eyes,  and  the  pride  of  life,  is  not  of  the  Father,  but  is 
of  the  world.  And  the  world  passeth  away,  and  the  lust  thereof ;  but 
xie  that  doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  forever." 182 

SERMON    XIV. 

[Preached  November  14,  1852.] 

THE    SYDENHAM    PALACE,    AND    THE    RELIGIOUS 
NON-OBSERVANCE    OF    THE    SABBATH. 

KoM.  xiv.  5,  6.  —  "  One  man  esteemeth  one  day  above  another;  another 
esteemeth  every  day  alike.  Let  every  man  be  fully  persuaded  in  his 
own  mind.  He  that  regardeth  the  day,  regardeth  it  unto  the  Lord  j 
and  he  that  regardeth  not  the  day,  to  the  Lord  he  doth  not  regard 
it.  He  that  eateth,  eateth  to  the  Lord,  for  he  giveth  God  thanks; 
and  he  that  eateth  not,  to  the  Lord  he  eateth  not,  and  giveth  God 
thanks." 198 

SERMON    XV. 

[Preached  January  2,  1853.] 
THE    EARLY    DEVELOPMENT    OF    JESUS. 

Luke  ii.  40,  —  "And  the  child  grew,  and  waxed  strong  in  spirit,  filled 
witji  wisdom;  and  the  grace  of  God  was  upon  him." 213 


CONTENTS.  ^i 

SERMON    XVI. 

[Preached  January  9,  1853.] 
CHRIST'S   ESTIMATE    OF    SIN. 
LuKK  xix.  10  —  "  The  Son  of  man  is  come  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which, 
was  lost" Page  229 

SERMON    XVII. 

[Preached  January  16,  1853.] 

THE   SANCTIFICATION    OF    CHRIST. 

JoHK  xvii.  19.  —  "  And  for  their  sakes  I  sanctify  myself,  that  they  also 
might  be  sanctified  through  the  truth." 244 

SERMON    XVIII. 

[Preached  January  23,  1853.] 

THE    FIRST    MIRACLE. 

I.      THE    GLORY     OF    THE     VIRGIN    MOTHER. 

John  ii.  11.  —  "  This  beginning  of  miracles  did  Jesus  in  Cana  of  Galilee, 
and  manifested  forth  his  glory;  and  his  disciples  belieyed  on  him." 

261 

SERMON    XIX. 

[Preached  January  30,  1853.] 

THE    FIRST    MIRACLE. 

II.      THE    GLORY     OF     THE     DIVINE    SON. 

John  ii.  11.  —  «*  This  beginning  of  miracles  did  Jesus  in  Cana  of  GalUee, 
and  manifested  forth  his  glory;  and  his  disciples  belieyed  on  him." 

277 

SERMON    XX. 

[Preached  March  20,  1853.] 

THE    GOOD    SHEPHERD 

John  x.  14,  15.  —  "  I  am  the  good  shepherd,  and  know  my  sheep,  and 
am  known  of  mine.  As  the  Father  knoweth  me,  even  so  know  I  th« 
Father;  and  I  lay  down  my  life  for  the  sheep. "  .   , 2^4 


12^  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

[Preached  Easter-day,  March  27,  1853.] 
THE    DOUBT    OF    THOMAS. 

John  xx.  29. —  "Jesus  saith  onto  him,  Thomas,  because  thou  hast  seen 
me,  thou  hast  believed  ;  blessed  are  they  that  have  not  seen,  and  yet 
have  beUeved," Page  312 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

[Preached  May  8,  1853.] 
THE   IRREPARABLE   PAST. 

Mark  xi v.  41,  42.  —  "And  he  cometh  the  third  time,  and  saith  unto 
them,  Sleep  on  now,  and  take  your  rest :  it  is  enough,  the  hour  is 
come  ;  behold,  the  Son  of  man  is  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  sinners. 
Rise  up,  let  us  go  ;  lo,  he  that  betrayeth  me  is  at  hand."  ....  829 


MEMOIR. 

Frederick  Wiljam  Robertson  was  born  in  London,  the 
3d  February,  1816.  He  had  Scotch  blood  in  his  veins  ; 
his  grandfather  held  a  commission  in  the  83d  or  Glasgow 
Regiment,  during  the  American  war.  Of  his  early  life  we 
know  little  ;  it  seems  to  have  been  passed  in  considerable 
vicissitude.  One  fact  is  interesting  for  its  clear  foreshad- 
owing of  the  man :  when  four  years  old  he  derived  his 
chief  pleasure  from  books ;  to  the  last  he  was  an  ardent, 
zealous  student.  He  passed  some  years  of  his  childhood 
at  Leith  Fort,  where  his  father,  a  Captain  of  Artillery,  was 
stationed.  At  nine  we  find  him  at  the  Grammar  School  of 
Beverley.  Removed  from  this,  he  accompanied  his  pa- 
rents to  the  Continent,  residing  chiefly  in  France  ;  and  at 
fifteen  he  entered  the  New  Academy  in  Edinburgh,  where, 
under  Archdeacon  Williams,  he  distinguished  himself  in 
Greek  and  Latin  verse.  After  a  year  of  the  Academy,  he 
attended  the  philosophical  classes  at  the  University,  and 
prepared  himself  for  the  study  of  the  Law.*  The  profes- 
sion was  uncongenial,  his  dislike  to  it  grew  upon  him,  and 
in  a  few  months  it  was  abandoned  for  the  Army,  to  which 
he  had  a  strong  predilection. 

He  was  of  a  military  ancestry  and  a  military  family. 
To  the  end  it  was  the  heart  of  a  soldier  that  beat  within 
the  delicate  and  shattered  frame.  "  Those  who  have  en- 
joyed his  confidence,  even  of  late  years,  can  well  under- 
stand  the  boyish  ardor  and  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
contemplated  a  military  life.  Despite  extreme  nervous 
sensibility,  and  an  almost  feminine  delicacy  of  feeling,  he 

•  Dr.  Terrot,  now  Bishop  of  Edinburgh,  acted  as  his  private  tutor. 
2  (13) 


14  MEMOIR. 

was  at  heart  brave,  manly,  intrepid,  with  a  quick  sym- 
pathy for  all  that  was  noble,  courageous,  and  unselfish  — 
with,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  an  '  unutterable  admira- 
tion of  heroic  daring.'  "  Those  who  have  read  his  Lec- 
tures on  Poetry  will  not  readily  forget  the  ardor  with 
which  he  relates  the  chivalry  of  our  soldiers  in  Scinde, 
the  strong  sympathy  by  which  he  interprets  the  thoughts 
they  only  felt,  the  fine  burst  of  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
defends  war  against  the  abuse  of  peace  societies  : 

"  Take  away  honor  and  imagination  and  poetry  from  war,  and 
it  becomes  carnage.  Doubtless.  And  take  away  public  spirit  and 
invisible  principles  from  resistance  to  a  tax,  and  Hampden  becomes  a 
noisy  demagogue.  .  .  .  Carnage  is  terrible.  The  conversion  of 
producers  into  destroyers  is  a  calamity.  Death,  and  insults  to 
woman  worse  thail  death,  and  human  features  obliterated  beneath 
the  hoof  of  the  war-horse,  and  reeking  hospitals,  and  ruined  com- 
merce, and  violated  homes,  and  broken  hearts  —  they  are  all  awful. 
But  there  is  something  worse  than  death.  Cowardice  is  worse. 
And  the  decay  of  enthusiasm  and  manliness  is  worse.  And  it  ia 
worse  than  death  —  ay,  worse  than  a  hundred  thousand  deaths  — 
when  a  people  has  gravitated  down  into  the  creed,  that  the  '  wealth 
of  nations '  consists  not  in  generous  hearts  — 

'  Fire  in  each  breast,  and  freedom  in  each  brow '  — 

in  national  virtues,  and  primitive  simplicity,  and  heroic  endurance, 
and  preference  of  duty  to  life ;  not  in  men,  but  in  silk,  and  cotton, 
and  something  that  they  call  '  capital.'  Peace  is  blessed.  Peace, 
arising  out  of  charity.  But  peace,  springing  out  of  the  calcula- 
tions of  selfishness,  is  not  blessed.  If  the  price  to  be  paid  for  peace 
is  this,  that  wealth  accumulate  and  men  decay,  better  far  that  every 
street  in  every  town  of  our  once  noble  country  should  run  blood  !  " 

There  must  be  many  who  yet  remember  the  thrill  of  the 
words  with  which  he  prefaced  Wordsworth's  noble  sonnet, 

"  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  that  the  flood:  "  — 

"  The  moment  was  like  that  of  the  deep  silence  which  precedee  a 


MEMOIR.  16 

thunder-storm,  when  every  breath  is  hushed,  ana  every  separate 
dried  leaf,  as  it  falls  through  the  boughs,  is  heard  tinkling  down 
from  branch  to  branch  ;  when  men's  breath  was  held,  when  men's 
blood  beat  thick  in  their  hearts  as  they  waited,  in  solemn  and  grand, 
but  not  in  painful  —  rather  in  triumphant  —  expectation,  for  the 
moment  when  the  storm  should  break,  and  the  French  cry  of  Glory  ! 
should  be  thundered  back  again  by  England's  sublimer  battle-cry 
of  Duty!" 

That  he  retained  this  soldier-spirit  is,  in  a  man  of  his 
fervent  piety,  a  proof  that  it  is  not  an  ungodly  spirit. 
Colonel  Garainer  thought  it  no  blot  on  the  escutcheon  of 
his  faith  that  he  went  out  to  fight  at  Prestonpans  ;  heroic 
Hedley  Vicars  received  his  mortal  wound  as  he  led  a  bay- 
onet charge.  And  had  Mr.  Robertson  entered  the  army 
with  the  "  deep  religious  convictions  "  he  entertained,  he 
would,  by  the  grace  of  God,  have  wielded  the  same 
healthy  Christian  influence  as  an  officer,  though  in  a  much 
narrower  sphere,  which  he  did  wield  as  a  clergyman. 

God,  however,  had  better  things  in  store  for  him.  He 
had  been  placed,  at  the  request  of  King  William  IV.,  upon 
the  Commander-in-Chief's  list.  Some  delay  occurred  be- 
fore he  received  his  commission.  His  friends  took  advan- 
tage of  it  to  urge  the  higher  claims  of  the  Church  ;  among 
others,  the  present  Bishop  of  Cashel  pressed  him  to  de- 
vote himself  directly  to  the  service  of  God.  He  was 
strongly  moved,  but  not  decided.  He  left  it  to  his  father 
to  choose :  the  result  was  that  he  matriculated  at  Oxford. 
Four  days  after  his  matriculation,  he  received  the  offer  of 
a  cornetcy  in  the  2d  Dragoon  Guards  ;  but  his  course  had 
been  taken,  and  he  would  not  turn  back.  We  need  not 
point  out  the  perfect  confidence  between  father  and  son 
which  this  incident  reveals,  nor  the  humility  and  unselfish- 
ness of  Mr.  Robertson.  They  were  manifested  as  touch- 
ingly  and  strikingly  at  another  crisis  of  his  history.  They 
characterized  his  life. 

There  is  but  scanty  record  of  his  terms  at  Oxford.     Ho 


16  MEMOIR. 

was  a  hard  student,  and  acquired  a  high  reputation ;  but, 
from  a  singular  diffidence,  he  refused  to  go  up  for  honors, 
though  urged  by  his  tutors,  and  twice  requested,  under 
peculiarly  flattering  circumstances,  by  the  Examiners.  Mr. 
Ruskin  was  one  of  his  associates,  and  doubtless  stimulated 
his  keen  relish  for  art.  And  from  a  passage  in  his  Lec- 
tures, it  appears  that  even  then  he  cultivated  the  habit  of 
close  observation,  the  perception  of  the  nicer  shadea  of 
feeling,  which  distinguished  him  in  riper  years  : 

"At  Blenheim,  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  there  ia 
a  Madonna,  into  which  the  old  Catholic  painter  has  tried  to  cast 
the  religious  conceptions  of  the  Middle  Ages,  virgin  purity  and  infi- 
nite repose.  The  look  is  upwards,  the  predominant  color  of  the 
picture  blue,  which  we  know  has  in  itself  a  strange  power  to  lull 
and  soothe.  It  is  impossible  to  gaze  on  this  picture  without  being 
conscious  of  a  calming  influence.  During  that  period  of  the  year 
in  which  the  friends  of  the  young  men  of  Oxford  come  to  visit  their 
brothers  and  sons,  and  Blenheim  becomes  a  place  of  favorite  resort, 
I  have  stood  aside  near  that  picture,  to  watch  its  efiFect  on  the  dif- 
ferent gazers,  and  have  seen  group  after  group  of  young  undergradu- 
ates and  ladies,  full  of  life  and  noisy  spirits,  Unconsciously  stilled 
before  it,  the  countenance  relaxing  into  calmness,  and  the  voice 
sinking  to  a  whisper.  The  painter  had  spoken  his  message,  and 
human  beings,  ages  after,  felt  what  he  meant  to  say." 

While  at  Brazenose  he  witnessed  two  scenes  which  left 
an  ineflFaceable  impression  on  his  memory,  to  which  he  re- 
ferred long  after  with  lively  emotion.  He  saw  the  triumph 
of  "  Arnold,  the  type  of  Enghsh  action,  and  Wordsworth, 
the  type  of  English  thought."  The  two  men  who  had 
quietly  revolutionized  England  —  who  had  been  greeted  at 
the  outset  with  hostility  and  scorn  —  who,  with  firm,  pa- 
tient manliness,  and  in  the  living  conviction  of  the  truth 
they  loved,  had  held  on  their  way  against  reproach,  cal- 
umny, inveterate  prejudice,  public  opinion — were  crowned 
in  the  same  theatre  with  enthusiastic  applause.  It  sunk 
deep  into  the  heart  of  the  student.     There  lay  in  it  a  sig- 


MEMOIR.  17 

nificant  prophecy  for  himself.     He  reaped  the   darkness 
and  the  wrong ;  the  glory  and  the  light  came  too  late. 

Immediately  after  leaving  college  he  was  ordained,  and 
discharged  the  duties  of  a  curate  at  Winchester  for  about 
twelve  months,  when  "his  health  began  to  decline,  and  he 
went  on  the  Continent  to  recruit  his  shattered  energies." 
In  his  absence  he  visited  much  of  the  beautiful  scenery 
that  is  accessible  to  an  enthusiastic,  and,  notwithstanding 
his  nervous  delicacy,  hardy  traveller.  It  was  no  doubt  a 
time  of  exquisite  enjoyment.  His  sermons  abound  in  rapid 
sketches  that  unfold  his  intense  delight  in  natural  beauty, 
and  which  are  remarkable  no  less  for  their  poetry  of  ex- 
pression, than  their  fidelity,  and  the  vividness  they  assume 
from  the  notice  of  trifles,  characteristic,  but  commonly 
unheeded.  He  was  married  at  Geneva,  and  soon  after 
returned  to  England.  During  the  next  four  years  he 
acted  as  curate  of  Christ  Church,  Cheltenham  ;  and  at  the 
beginning  of  1847  he  removed  to  St.  Ebbs,  Oxford.  It 
was  while  oflBciating  here  for  two  months  that  he  received 
the  ofier  of  the  Church  at  Brighton,  with  which  his  name 
and  work  will  be  always  associated.  "  At  St.  Ebbs  he  re- 
ceived a  stipend  for  his  services  miserably  inadequate  to 
their  value  ;  yet  when  the  incumbency  of  Trinity  Chapel, 
Brighton,  with  the  comparatively  splendid  income  to  be 
derived  from  it,  was  pointed  out  to  him,  he  only  expressed 
a  willingness  to  sacrifice  his  own  personal  convenience 
and  emolument  to  the  cause  in  which  he  labored,  and  left 
it  to  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  to  send  him  wherever  his  lord- 
ship thought  he  would  be  most  useful.  The  Bishop  ad- 
vised his  coming  to  Brighton,  and  he  prepared  to  do  so." 
Between  the  Army  and  the  Church,  he  left  the  choice  with 
his  father;  between  St.  Ebbs  and  Brighton,  with  his  Bishop 
There  was  the  same  humility,  childlikeness,  unselfishness  : 
but  in  this  instance  more  direct  consecration  to  God,  a 
2* 


18  MEMOIR. 

higher  pitch  of  self-sacrifice.  He  entered  on  his  work  at 
Brighton  August  15,  1847. 

Hitherto  he  had  been  a  quiet,  faithful,  laborious  curate, 
doing  his  parish  work  zealously  and  unobtrusively,  "bene- 
fiting greatly  those  under  the  influence  of  his  ministry." 
Genial  and  lovable,  he  had  many  friends. 

There  were  some  to  admire  his  rare  powers  ;  and  a  few 
even  bold  enough  to  follow  his  originality,  though  it  led 
them  very  far  out  of  the  beaten  tracks  of  thought.  In 
Brighton  it  was  different.  Trinity  Chapel  was  well  known. 
It  was  occupied  by  one  of  the  most  aristocratic  and  intel- 
lectual audiences  in  England.  His  eloquence  and  original- 
ity could  not  fail  to  be  marked.  And  if  the  congregation 
was  intellectual,  he  was  preeminently  so.  The  Chapel  be- 
came crowded.  Sittings  were  scarcely  ever  to  be  had. 
For  six  years  the  enthusiasm  never  slackened  ;  it  grew  and 
spread  silently  and  steadily,  and  when  he  died  broke  out 
in  a  burst  of  universal  sorrow.  He  was  in  no  way  misled 
by  it.  He  was  thankful  for  being  listened  to,  for  he  felt 
he  had  a  message  from  God  to  deliver.  But  he  put  no 
faith  in  mere  excitement,  the  eager  upturned  face,  the  still 
hush  of  attention.  "What  is  ministerial  success?"  he 
asks.  —  "  Crowded  churches  —  full  aisles  —  attentive  con- 
gregations —  the  approval  of  the  religious  world  —  much 
impression  produced  ?  Elijah  thought  so ;  and  when  he 
found  out  his  mistake,  and  discovered  that  the  applause 
on  Carmel  subsided  into  hideous  stillness,  his  heart  well- 
nigh  bi'oke  with  disappointment.  Ministerial  success  lies 
in  altered  lives  and  obedient  humble  hearts ;  unseen  work 
recognized  in  the  judgment-day."  That  success  was 
abundantly  vouchsafed  to  him.  It  was  the  testimony  of 
one  who  knew  him  well :  —  "I  cannot  count  up  conquests 
in  any  place  or  by  any  man  so  numerous  and  so  vast,  — 
conquests  achieved  in  so  short  a  period,  and  in  many  in 
stances  over  the  hearts  and  consciences  of  those  whom, 


MEMOIR. 


T$ 


from  their  age  or  pursuits,  it  is  always  most  difficult  to 
reach,  —  as  were  the  conquests  of  that  devoted  soldier  of 
the  cross  of  Christ  whose  followers  you  were."  * 

Mr.  Robertson  left  no  means  untried  by  which  to  win 
sinful  men  and  women  to  the  love  of  Christ.  He  sought 
them  in  their  homes,  in  their  haunts  of  vice,  suffering  no 
pain  nor  trouble  of  his  own  to  hinder  him,  deterred  by  no 
fear  of  misconception,  never  losing  sight  of  them,  pleading 
with  them  with  the  irresistible  force  of  an  ardent  nature 
sanctified  and  intensified  by  the  Holy  Spirit.  Even  in  hia 
undergraduateship,  there  were  many  who  received  througl 
him  light,  strength,  and  the  knowledge  of  a  Saviour  ;  and 
their  number  kept  pace  with  the  widening  sphere  of  his 
influence. 

Yet  there  was  a  dark  side  to  all  this,  a  shadow  that 
blighted  where  it  fell.  The  originality,  the  manly  out- 
spoken thoughts,  the  freedom  from  conventionalism  and 
cant  phrase,  the  firm  grasp  of  truth,  the  bold  utterance  of 
it  without  respect  of  persons  or  parties,  —  all  this,  which 
had  attracted  no  great  notice  in  the  curate  at  Winchester 
or  Cheltenham,  became  as  noted  as  the  popularity  of  the 
incumbent  of  Brighton.  From  this  time  he  was  attacked 
with  coarse  abuse,  his  words  were  twisted,  his  meaning 
misrepresented.  He  was  pursued  with  a  venom  which 
only  religious  men  and  religious  papers  know  how  to  use  ; 
his  simplest  acts  were  turned  into  an  engine  to  assail  him ; 
he  was  held  up  to  odium  by  bad  names,  persecuted  with  a 
relentless  cruelty  that  embittered  his  life.  He  did  not 
complain.  "  It  seems  to  me  a  pitiful  thing,"  he  once  said, 
"  for  any  man  to  aspire  to  be  true  and  to  speak  truth,  and 
then  to  complain  in  astonishment  that  truth  has  not  crowns 
to  give,  but  thorns."  f     But  he  had  a  feeble  body,  and  a 

•  From  a  Funeral  Sermon  by  the  Rev.  James  Anderson,  the  excellent 
Preacher  of  Lincoln's  Inn. 

t  Second  Address  to  the  Working  Men. 


20  MEMOIE. 

nervous  system  which  was  exquisitely  acute  ;  and,  "  hu« 
manly  speaking,  his  death  was  hastened  by  anxiety  and 
intense  susceptibility,  acting  upon  an  exhausted  frame, 
unfit  to  cope  longer  with  the  trouble  and  suffering  so  plen- 
tifully strewn  in  his  path."  *  To  a  man  who  was  thought- 
less enough  to  charge  him  with  gaining  considerable  self- 
applause  and  great  popularity  with  the  multitude  by 
affecting  to  look  down  from  a  cool,  philosophic  height  on 
the  struggle  and  heat  below,  he  wrote  a  touching  letter,  in 
which  he  thus  sorrowfully  describes  his  own  position : 

"  He  will  find  himself  [he  is  supposing  his  accuser  in  his  place], 
to  hie  painful  surprise,  charged  on  the  one  side  for  his  earnestness 
with  heresy,  and  on  the  other  for  his  charity  with  latudinarianism. 
....  He  will  find  his  atteni2Dt  to  love  men,  and  his  yearnings  for 
their  sympathy,  met  by  suspicion  of  his  motives,  and  malignant 
slanders  upon  his  life ;  his  passionate  desire  to  reach  ideas  instead 
of  words,  and  get  to  the  root  of  what  men  mean,  he  will  find  treated, 
even  by  those  who  think  that  they  are  candid,  as  the  gratification  of 
a  literary  taste,  and  the  affectation  of  a  philosophic  height  above  the 
Btrife  of  human  existence.  I  would  not  recommend  him  to  try  that 
philosophic  height  which  he  thinks  so  self-indulgent,  unless  he  has 
the  hardihood  to  face  the  keenest  winds  that  blow  over  all  lonely 
places,  whether  lonely  heights  or  lonely  flats.  If  he  can  steel  his 
heart  against  distrust  and  suspicion,  —  if  he  can  dare  to  be  pro- 
nounced dangerous  by  the  ignorant,  hinted  at  by  his  brethren  in 
public,  and  warned  against  in  private,  —  if  he  can  resolve  to  bo 
Btruck  on  every  side,  and  not  strike  again,  giving  all  quarter  and 
asking  none,  —  if  he  can  struggle  in  the  dark  with  the  prayer  for 
light  of  Ajax  on  his  lips,  in  silence  and  alone,  —  then  let  him  adopt 
the  line  which  seems  so  easy,  and  be  fair  and  generous  and  chival- 
rous to  all." 

The  rancor  of  his  opponents  did  not  even  cease  with 
life, — it  followed  him  to  the  stillness  of  the  tomb.  In 
papers  which  met  the  eye  of  his  afflicted  relatives  while  the 
earth  was  yet  fresh  upon  his  grave,  weighty  doubts  were 
expressed  about   the   possibility   of  his   salvation.     The 

*  Preface  to  the  Lectures  on  Poetry. 


MEMOIR.  21 

Christian  mind  of  Britain  has  taken  its  own  view  of  the 
matter.  Edition  after  edition  of  his  Sermons  is  exhausted. 
His  name  stands  high,  and  it  is  rising  surely  to  its  fitting 
place.  He  is  spoken  of  with  strong  difference  of  opinion 
sometimes,  —  but  even  then  with  respect  and  admiration  ; 
and  his  Sermons  are  already  assumed  to  be  a  landmark  in 
the  religious  thought  of  his  country.  There  was  encour- 
agement, too,  during  these  brief  six  years.  On  the  Christ- 
mas morning  after  his  settlement  in  Brighton,  he  found  a 
set  of  handsome  prayer-books  on  the  reading-desk,  pre- 
sented by  the  servants  who  attended  his  Chapel.  The 
year  before  he  died,  he  received  an  address  from  the  young 
men,  no  less  affectionate  than  cheering  to  the  heart  of  the 
pastor.  He  was  able  to  say,  in  his  reply:  "  I  know  that 
there  are  many  who  were  long  in  darkness  and  doubt  and 
saw  no  light,  and  who  have  now  found  an  anchor  and  a 

rock  and  a  resting-place I  feel  deeply  grateful  to 

be  enabled  to  say  that,  if  my  ministry  were  to  close 
to-morrow,  it  has  not  been  in  this  town  altogether  an 
entire  failure."  And,  through  all  his  trials,  the  love,  and 
earnestness,  and  ready  helpful  sympathy,  of  his  congrega- 
tion, were  an  unspeakable  comfort. 

To  his  preaching  we  have  previously  referred  in  some 
detail.  We  shall  not  return  to  it  now,  though  we  feel 
painfully  how  much  has  been  left  unsaid.  It  was  marked 
by  an  intense  realization  of  the  truth  of  Christ,  and  an 
equally  intense  realization  of  the  life  of  Christ.  He  inter- 
preted Scripture  with  a  marvellous  insight.  A  clear  light 
often  flashes  from  passages  which  another  man  would  have 
loft  or  made  dark  enigmas.  The  inward  gifts  which  God 
bestowed  on  him  in  such  large  measure  are  manifest  in 
every  page  of  his  writings.  They  were  wedded  in  exqui- 
site harmony  to  many  outward  graces,  —  those  which  lend 
effective  aid  to  the  persuasion  of  the  preacher.  He  had 
"a  noble  and  attractive  mien;"  "an  utterance  the  most 


22  MEMOIR. 

exquisitely  melodious  and  thrilling ;  "  a  face  that  reflected 
every  shifting  play  of  feeling ;  a  figure  frail,  and  made 
frailer  by  disease,  but  erect  and  manly  ;  a  refined  delicacy, 
a  winning  grace.  He  spoke  with  an  impassioned  elo- 
quence, of  which  his  posthumous  Sermons  can  give  but 
faint  conception.  Men  the  most  widely  opposed  to  him, 
scoffers  and  careless  sceptics,  when  they  entered  his 
church,  were  arrested  by  the  torrent-flow  of  thought,  the 
poetic  imagery,  the  fiery  glow  of  the  words  ;  yet  more 
than  all,  perhaps,  they  were  thrilled  by  his  mysterious 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  the  depth  and  purity  of 
his  love  for  God.  He  was  an  extemporary  preacher.  His 
manner  was  to  have  "  a  few  words  pencilled  upon  a  card 
or  scrap  of  note-paper,  and  sufficing  by  way  of  ground- 
work ;  yet  his  spontaneous  efforts  were,  in  point  of  com- 
position, as  highly  finished  as  if  they  had  been  set  down 
and  committed  to  memory."  His  style  was  simple,  but 
not  in  the  sense  commonly  received  of  sentences  (no  mat- 
ter about  the  thoughts)  running  after  each  other  on  easy 
words  of  two  syllables ;  for,  though  his  language  waa 
plain,  apt,  and  never  redundant,  the  thoughts  were  pro- 
found, the  reasoning  close,  the  whole  tone  intellectual.  It 
required  patient  and  trained  effort  of  mind  to  follow  him 
and  take  up  his  fulness  of  meaning.  His  congregation 
was  composed  of  the  highly  educated,  and  he  preached  to 
them  as  a  man  of  education  and  refinement.  It  was  his 
special  vocation.  Yet  the  poor  were  never  sent  hungry 
away.  His  later  Sermons  are  pervaded  by  a  tone  of  sad- 
ness : 

"  Not  ono  of  u8  but  has  felt  his  heart  aching  for  want  of  sym- 
pathy. We  have  had  our  lonely  hours,  our  days  of  disappoint- 
ment, and  our  moments  of  hopelessness ;  times  when  our  highest 
feelings  have  been  misunderstood,  and  our  purest  met  with  ridi- 
cule. Days  when  our  heavy  secret  was  lying  unshared,  like  ice 
upon  the  heart.  And  then  the  spirit  gives  way  ;  we  have  wished 
that  all  were  over,  —  that  we  could  lie  down  tired,  and  rest,  lika 
the  children,  from  life." 


MEMOIR.  23 

He  dwells  on  "the  lofty  sadness  which  characterized 
the  late  ministry  of  Jesus,  as  He  went  down  from  the 
sunny  mountain-tops  of  life,  into  the  darkening  shades  of 
the  valley  where  lies  the  grave." 

His  thoughts  turn  with  a  weary  melancholy  to  the  care- 
lessness with  which  men  live  and  die  : 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  those  marble  statues  in  some  public  square 
or  garden,  which  art  has  so  fashioned  into  a  perennial  fountain, 
that  through  the  lips,  or  through  the  hands,  the  clear  water  flows 
in  a  perpetual  stream,  on  and  on  forever,  and  the  marble  stands 
there  —  passive,  cold  —  making  no  effort  to  arrest  the  gliding 
water  ? 

"It  is  so  that  time  flows  through  the  hands  of  men,  —  swift, 
never  pausing,  till  it  has  run  itself  out :  and  there  is  the  man  petri- 
fied into  a  marble  sleep,  not  feeling  what  it  is  which  is  passing 
away  forever." 

He  speaks  oftener  of  the  hollow  nothingness  of  the  tem- 
poral and  visible : 

"Things  are  passing,  —  our  friends  are  dropping  off  from  us. 
strength  is  giving  way  ;  our  relish  for  earth  is  going,  and  the  world 
no  longer  wears  to  our  hearts  the  radiance  that  once  it  wore.  We 
have  the  same  sky  above  us,  and  the  same  scenes  around  us ;  but 
the  freshness  that  our  hearts  extracted  from  everything  in  boyhood, 
and  the  glory  that  seemed  to  rest  once  on  earth  and  life,  have  faded 
away  forever.  Sad  and  gloomy  truths  to  the  man  who  is  going 
down  to  the  grave  with  his  work  undone.  Not  sad  to  the  Chris- 
tian ;  but  rousing,  exciting,  invigorating.  If  it  be  the  eleventh 
hour,  we  have  no  time  for  folding  of  the  hands  ;  we  will  work  the 
faster.  Through  the  changefulness  of  life  ;  through  the  solemn 
tolling  of  the  bell  of  time,  which  tells  us  that  another,  and  another, 
and  another,  are  gone  before  us  ;  "through  the  noiseless  rush  of  a 
world  which  is  going  down  with  gigantic  footsteps  into  nothingness, 
let  not  the  Christian  slack  his  hand  from  work  ;  for  he  that  doeth 
the  will  of  God  may  defy  hell  itself  to  quench  his  immortality." 

The  prophetic  anticipation  of  the  end  was  unconsciously 
tinging  his  thoughts  ;  the  iaurden  and  pain  of  life  forced  ati 
utterance  ;  and  still,  in   this   last  extract,  we   see   how 


24  MEMOIR. 

bravely  his  faith  bore  him  up,  firm,  bold,  unshrinking, 
unto  death. 

Mr.  Robertson's  work  was  by  no  means  confined  to  the 
pulpit.  By  the  working  men  he  was  regarded  as  a  frank 
and  faithful  friend.  Already,  in  1848,  he  was  actively 
engaged  with  a  Working  Men's  Institute,  the  idea  of 
which  had  been  early  in  his  mind.  It  was  intended  for  a 
poorer  class  than  were  embraced  by  the  Athenaeums  and 
Mechanics'  Institutes,  and  the  subscription  was  only  a 
penny  a  week.  In  October  of  that  year,  one  thousand 
three  hundred  members  were  enrolled.  They  besought 
him  to  deliver  the  opening  address,  and  their  anxiety  over- 
came his  objections.  No  one  who  has  carefully  perused 
that  address  can  wonder  at  the  afiection  the  men  bore  to 
him,  at  the  sway  he  held  over  their  hearts,  at  the  place 
his  memory  still  freshly  retains.  For  two  years  the  Insti- 
tute had  great  success.  A  small  section  of  the  members 
then  advocated  the  introduction  of  sceptical  publications. 
The  society  was  threatened  with  dissolution.  Mr.  Robert- 
son manfully  came  forward  and  delivered  a  second  address, 
with  the  hope  of  restoring  peace.  "  Brother  men,  mem- 
bers of  the  Working  Men's  Institute,"  he  began,  "you 
asked  me  to  stand  by  you  at  the  hopeful  beginning  of  your 
institution  ;    I  could  not  desert  you  in   the   moment   of 

danger,  and  the  hour  of  your  unpopularity I   am 

here  to  identify  myself  in  public  again  with  you,  —  to  say 
that  your  cause  is  my  cause,  and  your  failure  my  failure." 
The  introduction  of  infidel  prints  was  maintained  on  three 
grounds,  —  rights  of  fi-ee  inquiry,  rights  of  liberty,  and 
rights  of  democracy.  On  these  three  he  met  its  advocates 
with  excellent  sense,  warm,  honest  feeling,  and  sound 
principle.  But  "the  society,"  we  learn,  "failed  to  right 
itself;  and  in  July,  1850,  it  was  formally  dissolved.  He 
counselled  a  second  experiment,  and  another  society ;  or 
rather,  as  he  regarded  it,  the  old  one,  purified  by  experi- 


MEilOIE.  25 

ence,  rose  into  being."  It  forsook,  greatly  to  his  regret, 
the  good  old  title  of  Working  Men,  and  assumed  that  of 
Mechanics  ;  but  it  has  flourished  longer  than  its  predeces- 
sor, and  is  still  in  full  vigor.  Politics,  in  the  higher  sense, 
had  the  same  powerful  attraction  for  Mr.  Robertson  that 
they  had  for  Dr.  Arnold.  He  took  a  deep  interest  in  all 
national  questions.  Nor  was  his  interest  merely  theoreti- 
cal. In  every  movement  in  Brighton  connected  with 
social  life  and  progress  he  was  active  and  prominent. 
And  on  one  social  question,  which  underlies  all  others, 
the  relation  of  classes,  —  the  adjustment  of  the  rights  of 
the  rich  and  the  rights  of  the  poor,  —  he  spoke  with  a 
wisdom,  and  courage,  and  love,  which  had  a  notable  influ- 
ence in  his  own  sphere,  and  from  which  we  may  now  hope 
for  far  wider  and  even  more  permanent  results. 

In  1852,  Mr.  Robertson  delivered  to  the  members  of  the 
Mechanics'  Institution  two  Lectures  on  the  Influence  of 
Poetry  on  the  Working  Classes.  They  are  necessarily 
brief,  but  every  line  is  suggestive.  We  do  not  know  that 
there  is  anywhere  so  true  an  estimate  of  our  modern  poe- 
try ;  while  the  exquisite  snatches  of  criticism  on  Shakes- 
peare, Wordsworth,  and  Tennyson,  reveal  a  power  which, 
in  these  days  of  hasty  reading,  and  flippant,  shallow  remark, 
we  can  ill  afibrd  to  lose.  Early  in  the  spring  of  1853,  ho 
followed  up  this  subject  by  a  remarkable  lecture  on  the 
poetry  of  his  favorite  Wordsworth.  The  lecture  was 
never  published.  It  was  preserved  only  in  the  notes  of  a 
reporter.  But,  did  our  space  permit,  we  could  not  forbear 
quoting  from  that  source,  imperfect  as  it  is,  his  fine  per- 
ception of  Wordsworth's  calling,  the  relation  he  bore  to 
the  mighty  heart  of  the  nation.  He  reviewed  the  qualifi- 
cations necessary  for  appreciating  Wordsworth's  poetry^ 
his  character  and  life,  so  far  as  they  bear  upon  it.  He 
reserved  for  another  opportunity  what  he  considered  more 
important  than  either,  —  the  question  of  how  far  Words- 
3 


26  MEMOIE. 

worth's  theories  and  principles  are  true,  how  fai  exagger- 
ated, and  how  far  he  worked  them  out.  That  opportunity 
never  came.  During  the  lecture  his  friends  remarked  with 
alarm  the  hectic  flush  that  rose  upon  his  cheek,  the  evident 
effort  by  which  the  will  triumphed  over  bodily  suffering. 
"  His  exertions  in  the  pulpit  were  at  this  period  almost 
overpowering,  and  the  intense  study  to  which  he  had  long 
accustomed  himself  became  agonizing  in  the  extreme." 
Before  April  he  was  compelled  to  relinquish  his  duties  for 
a  time,  and  seek  change  of  air  and  relaxation.  The  end 
was  drawing  near. 

Slightly  recruited,  but  unwilling  to  remain  longer  from 
his  post,  he  returned  to  Brighton  in  the  third  week  of  his 
leave.  The  effort  was  too  great.  With  failing  health  and 
increasing  pain,  he  continued  to  discharge  every  duty  of 
his  office.  The  congregation  sought  assistance  for  him  ; 
the  vicar  did  not  approve  of  the  man  they  selected,  and 
refused  to  appoint  him.  Alone,  and  "  sinking  rapidly," 
Mr.  Robertson  struggled  on,  a  spectacle  of  quiet,  unselfish 
heroism  that  might  well  shame  many  a  brother  of  the 
cross.  One  week,  his  sufferings  became  rapidly  more 
acute  ;  his  preparation  for  the  coming  Sunday  laid  on  him 
the  burden  of  a  sharper  agony.  He  gave  way,  at  last. 
That  Sunday  a  stranger  took  his  place.*  He  never 
preached  again.  He  lingered  in  his  room  for  two  months 
in  the  torture  of  an  excruciating  disease.  He  bore  it  with- 
out a  murmur,  with  calm  resignation  to  His  will  who  chas- 
tens those  He  loves.  He  constantly  assured  those  about 
him  of  his  happiness  and  peace.  He  had  penetrated  the 
meaning  of  the  Saviour's  life ;  he  was  to  follow  Him 
through  agony  and  death. 

On  Sunday,  the  15th  of  August,  the  congregation  knelt 
before  God  in  supplication  for  their  dying  pastor.     That 

*  By  a  singular  coincidence,  the  stranger  was  Archdeacon  "Williams, 
his  former  rector,  who  occupied  the  pulpit  from  this  time  till  Mr.  Robert- 
son's death,  and  preached  the  Afternoon  Funeral  Sermon. 


MEMOIR.  27 

day  six  years  before,  they  had  felt  for  the  first  time  the 
spell  of  his  holy  earnestness,  they  had  sat  entranced  by 
the  eloquent  truth  that  flowed  from  his  lips.  During  the 
day  he  was  able  to  recline  upon  a  sofa  before  an  open  win- 
dow ;  towards  night  he  grew  suddenly  worse.  The  pain 
was  intense.  He  could  not  speak,  save  at  intervals,  when 
he  cried,  feebly,  "My  God,  my  God,  —  my  Fathei",  my 
Father."  The  yearning  of  his  heart  was  soon  fulfilled. 
His  attendants  sought  to  change  his  position.  "  I  cannot 
bear  it,"  he  said  ;  "  let  mo  rest.  I  must  die.  Let  God  do 
His  work."  They  were  the'last  words  he  spoke.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  lips  that  uttered  them  were  sealed  in  death. 

There  remains  little  moi-e  to  be  told.  At  Brighton  there 
was  profound  and  general  sorrow.  On  the  day  of  the 
funeral  the  shops  were  closed,  the  houses  were  in  mourn- 
ing. Strangers  who  had  arrived  inquired  if  one  of  the 
royal  family  was  dead.  Headed  by  one  thousand  five 
hundred  of  those  who  well  remembered  the  address  of 
"  Brother  men  and  fellow-workmen,"  the  melancholy  cor- 
tege wound  through  a  crowd  extending  for  more  than  a 
mile. 

"  And  women's  tears  fell  fast  as  rain, 
And  rough  men  shook  with  inward  pain 
For  him  they  ne'er  should  see  again." 

But  there  was  one  quiet,  unnoticed  mourning,  more  touch- 
ing than  the  crowds  of  the  procession,  or  the  solemn  awe 
that  hushed  the  streets.     In  the.  gray  dawn  of  the  morning 
after  the  funeral,  a  group  was  seen  weeping  over  the  new 
grave.     It  was  a  mechanic,   with  his  wife  and  children, 
dressed   in   such   emblems  of  woe  as   they  could  afford. 
When  Mr.  Robertson  came  to  Brighton,  that  man  and  his 
•nfe  were  rank  infidels.     One  day,  as  he  passed  Trinity 
hapel,  he  thought  he  would  go  in  to  hear  what  the  new 
eacher  had  to  say.     The  word  was  blessed  to  his  salva- 
tion.    He   became   a   constant  worshipper,   and    brought 
others  to  listen  to  the  same  teacher.     We  dare  add  noth- 


28  MEMOIR. 

ing  to  this.     To  those  who  can  feel,  H  is  more  eloquent 
than  words. 

A  monument  to  Mr.  Robertson  has  been  raised  in  Brigh- 
ton Cemetery.  The  working  men  sought  to  have  a  share 
in  it.  On  one  side  they  erected,  "in  grateful  remembrance 
of  his  sympathy,  and  in  deep  sorrow  for  their  loss,"  * 
a  medallion,  representing  "  their  benefactor "  seated  in 
his  library,  in  earnest  conversation  with  three  artisans. 
Within  the  railing  of  the  monument  there  is  a  plot  of  gar- 
den ground.  The  same  men  asked  and  received  permis- 
sion to  keep  it  free  from  weeds,  and  to  supply  it  with  fresh 

flowers, 

******** 

There  are  no  materials  for  an  exciting  biography.  There 
is  an  absence  of  striking  incidents.  But  there  is  the 
power  of  a  single,  earnest,  considerate  life.  Bare  though 
it  is,  we  cannot  think  of  it  unmoved.  Nay,  its  very  sim- 
ple modesty,  in  contrast  with  the  great  results  that  have 
followed  it,  the  great  fame  that  time  is  wreathing  round 
it,  is  infinitely  more  impressive  than  the  noise  of  a  public 
triumph,  or  the  stir  and  glare  that  surround  a  public 
name.  It  is  the  life  that  speaks  to  us  from  the  silence  of 
its  retirement ;  a  voice  to  which  all  men,  especially  all 
clergymen,  would  do  well  to  take  heed.  They  will  learn 
from  it  the  hidden  power  of  faith,  the  calm  might  that  lies 
in  communion  with  the  truth,  the  nobleness  and  beauty 
and  reward  of  a  high  self-sacrifice.  They  will  learn  from 
it  to  keep  brave  hearts  when  the  clouds  settle  on  their 
life,  to  trust  that  God  will  do  His  work,  though  not  per- 
haps till  their  day  is  past;  they  will  learn  to  hold  steadfast 
by  their  work,  though  pain  and  sorrow  are  knocking 
loudly  at  the  door ;  they  will  utter  with  the  thankfulness 
of  full  hearts  the  aspiration  engraved  upon  his  tomb, 
"Glory  to  the  Saviour  who  was  his  all  1  "  —  Udinburgh 
Christian  Magazine. 

*  The  words  are  taken  from  the  inscription. 


SEEMONS. 


.1. 

[Preached  June  22,  1851.] 
CHRIST'S  JUDGMENT  RESPECTING  INHERITANCE.* 

Luke  xii.  13-15. —  "  And  one  of  the  company  said  unto  him,  Master, 
speak  to  my  brother,  that  he  divide  the  inheritance  with  me.  And  he 
said  unto  him,  Man,  who  made  me  a  judge,  or  a  divider  over  you? 
And  he  said  unto  them.  Take  heed,  and  beware  of  covetousness  :  for 
a  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  which  ho 


The  Son  of  God  was  misunderstood  and  misinter- 
preted in  his  day.  With  this  fact  we  are  familiar; 
but  we  are  not  all  familiar  with  the  consideration 
that  it  was  very  natural  He  should  be  so  mistaken. 

He  went  about  Galilee  and  Judea  proclaiming  the 
downfall  of  every  injustice,  the  exposure  and  confuta- 
tion of  every  lie.  He  denounced  the  lawyers  who 
refused  education  to  the  people  in  order  that  they 
might  retain  the  key  of  knowledge  in  their  own  hands. 
He  reiterated  Woe !   woe !  woe !  to  the  Scribes  and 

♦  This  Sermon  was  accidentally  omitted  from  its  proper  place  after  the 
17th  Sermon  in  Vol.  I. — "The  Message  of  the  Church  to  Men  of 
Wealth."  It  was  preached  on  the  following  Sunday,  and  is  the  sequel  to 
that  Sermon. 

3*  (29) 


so      Christ's  judgment  eespecting  ikheritance. 

Pharisees,  wlio  revered  the  past,  and  systematical! j 
persecuted  every  new  prophet  and  every  brave  man 
who  rose  up  to  vindicate  the  spirit  of  the  past  against 
the  institutions  of  the  past.  He  spoke  parables  which 
bore  hard  on  the  men  of  wealth.  That,  for  instance, 
of  the  rich  man  who  was  clothed  in  purple  and  fine 
linen,  and  fared  sumptuously  every  day ;  who  died, 
and  in  hell  lifted  up  his  eyes  being  in  torments.  That 
of  the  wealthy  proprietor  who  prospered  in  the  world ; 
who  pulled  down  his  barns  to  build  greater :  who  all 
the  while  was  in  the  sight  of  God  a  fool ;  who  in  front 
of  judgment  and  eternity  was  found  unready.  He 
stripped  the  so-called  religious  party  of  that  day  of 
their  respectability ;  convicted  them,  to  their  own 
astonishment,  of  hypocrisy,  and  called  them  whited 
sepulchres.  He  said  God  was  against  them ;  that 
Jerusalem's  day  was  come,  and  that  she  must  fall. 

And  now  consider  candidly  :  —  Suppose  that  all  this 
had  taken  place  in  this  country  ;  that  an  unknown 
stranger,  with  no  ordination,  with  no  visible  authority, — 
Dasing  his  authority  upon  his  Truth,  and  his  agreement 
with  the  mind  of  God  the  Father,  —  had  appeared  in 
this  England,  uttering  half  the  severe  things  He  spoke 
against  the  selfishness  of  wealth,  against  ecclesiastical 
authorities,  against  the  clergy,  against  the  popular 
religious  party :  —  suppose  that  such  an  one  should  say 
that  our  whole  social  life  is  corrupt  and  false:  suppose 
that,  instead  of  "  thou  blind  Pharisee,"  the  word  had 
been  "  thou  blind  Churchman  !  " 

Should  we  have  fallen  at  the  feet  of  such  an  one, 
and  said,  Lo !  this  is  a  message  from  Almighty  God, 
and  He  who  brings  it  is  a  Son  of  God ;  perhaps, 
what  He  says  Himself,  His  only  Son,  God,  of  God  ? 


Christ's  judgment  eespecting  inheritance.      31 

Or,  should  we  have  rather  said,  This  is  dangerous 
teaching,  and  revolutionary  in  its  tendencies ;  and  He 
who  teaches  it  is  an  incendiary,  a  mad,  democratical, 
dangerous  fanatic? 

That  was  exactly  what  they  did  say  of  your  Re- 
deemer in  His  day ;  nor  does  it  seem  at  all  wonderful 
that  they  did. 

The  sober,  respectable  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem, 
very  comfoi  table  themselves,  and  utterly  unable  to 
conceive  why  things  should  not  go  on  as  they  had 
been  going  on  for  a  hundred  years,  —  not  smarting 
from  the  misery  and  the  moral  degradation  of  the 
lazars  with  whom  He  associated,  and  under  whose 
burdens  His  loving  spirit  groaned,  —  thought  it  excess- 
ively dangerous  to  risk  the 'subversion  of  their  quiet 
enjoyments  by  such  outcries.  They  said  —  prudent 
men !  —  If  he  is  permitted  to  go  on  this  way,  the 
Romans  will  come  and  take  away  our  place  and  nation. 
The  Priests  and  Pharisees,  against  whom  he  had  spoken 
specially,  were  fiercer  still.  They  felt  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost. 

But,  still  more  —  His  own  friends  and  followers  mis 
understood  Him. 

They  heard  Him  speak  of  a  Kingdom  of  Justice 
and  Righteousness,  in  which  every  man  should  receive 
the  due  reward  of  his  deeds.  They  heard  him  say 
that  this  kingdom  was  not  far  off,  but  actually  among 
them,  hindered  only  by  their  sins  and  dulness  from 
immediate  appparance.  Men's  souls  were  stirred  and 
agitated.  They  were  ripe  for  anything,  and  any 
spark  would  have  produced  explosion.  They  thought 
the  next  call  would  be  to  take  the  matter  into  their 
own  hands. 


32     Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritances 

Accordingly,  on  one  occasion,  St.  John  and  St. 
James  asked  permission  to  call  down  fire  from  heaven 
upon  a  village  of  the  Samaritans  which  would  not 
receive  their  message.  On  another  occasion,  on  a 
single  figurative  mention  of  a  sword,  they  began  to 
gird  themselves  for  the  struggle :  "  Lord,"  said  one, 
"  behold,  here  are  two  swords."  Again,  as  soon  as 
He  entered  Jerusalem  for  the  last  time,  the  populace 
heralded  his  way  with  shouts,  thinking  that  the  long- 
delayed  hour  of  retribution  was  come  at  last.  They 
saw  the  conqueror  before  them  who  was  to  vindicate 
their  wrongs.  In  imagination  they  already  felt  their 
feet  upon  the  necks  of  their  enemies. 

And  because  their  hopes  were  disappointed,  and 
He  was  not  the  Demagogue  they  wanted,  therefore 
they  turned  against  Him.  Not  the  Pharisees,  but  the 
people  whom  He  had  come  to  save,  —  the  outcast,  and 
the  publican,  and  the  slave,  and  the  maid-servant :  they 
whose  cause  He  had  so  often  pleaded,  and  whose 
emancipation  he  had  prepared.  It  was  the  People  who 
cried,  "  Crucify  Him,  Crucify  Him  ! " 

This  will  become  intelligible  to  us,  if  we  can  get 
at  the  spirit  of  this  passage. 

Among  those  who  heard  Him  lay  down  the  laws 
of  the  Kingdom  —  Justness,  Fairness,  Charity  —  there 
was  one  who  had  been  defrauded,  as  it  seems,  by  his 
brother,  of  his  just  share  of  the  patrimony.  He 
thought  that  the  One  who  stood  before  him  was 
exactly  what  he  wanted  :  —  a  redresses  of  wrongs  ;  a 
champion  of  the  oppressed ;  a  divider  and  arbiter 
between  factions ;  a  referee  of  lawsuits ;  one  who 
would  spend  his  life  in  the  unerring  decision  of  all  mi&» 
understandings. 


cheist's  judgment  respecting  inheritance.      33 

To  his  astonishment,  the  Son  of  Man  refused  to  itter- 
fere  in  his  quarrel,  or  take  part  in  it  at  all.  "  Man,  who 
made  me  a  judge,  or  a  divider  over  you  ?  " 

We  ask  attention  to  two  things. 

I.  The  Saviour's  refusal  to  interfere. 

II.  The  source  to  which  He  traced  the  appeal  for 
interference. 

I.  The  Saviour's  refusal  to  interfere. 

1.  He  implied  that  it  A^as  not  his  part  to  interfere. 
"  Who  made  me  a  Judge,  or  a  Divider  ?  "  « 

It  is  a  common  saying,  that  religion  has  nothing  to 
do  with  politics;  and  particularly  there  is  a  strong  feel- 
ing current  against  all  interference  with  politics  by  the 
ministers  of  rehgion.  This  notion  rests  on  a  basis 
which  is  partly  wrong,  partly  right. 

To  say  that  religion  has  nothing  to  do  with  politics, 
is  to  assert  that  which  is  simply  false.  It  were  as 
wise  to  say  that  the  atmosphere  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  principles  of  architecture.  Directly,  nothing  — 
indirectly,  much.  Some  kinds  of  stone  are  so  friable, 
that  though  they  will  last  for  centuries  in  a  dry  climate, 
they  will  crumble  away  in  a  few  years  in  a  damp  one. 
There  are  some  temperatures  in  which  a  form  of  build- 
ing is  indispensable  which  in  another  would  be  un- 
bearable. The  shape  of  doors,  windows,  apartments, 
all  depend  upon  the  air  that  is  to  be  admitted  or  ex- 
cluded. Nay,  it  is  for  the  very  sake  of  procuring  a 
habitable  atmosphere  within  certain  limits  that  archi- 
tecture exists  at  all.  The  atmospheric  laws  are  dis- 
tinct from  the  laws  of  architecture ;  but  there  ia 
not  an  architectural  question  into  which  atmospheric 


34         CHRIST'S  JUDGMENT   RESPECTING   INHERITANCE. 

considerations  do  not  enter  as  conditions  of  the  ques* 
tion. 

That  whicli  the  air  is  to  architeture,  rehgion  is  to 
politics.  It  is  the  vital  air  of  every  question.  Directly 
it  determines  nothing  —  indirectly,  it  conditions  every 
problem  that  can  arise,  "  The  kingdoms  of  this  world 
must  tecome  the  kingdoms  of  our  Lord  and  of  His 
Christ."  How,  if  His  Spirit  is  not  to  mingle  with 
political  and  social  truths  ? 

Nevertheless,  in  the  popular  idea  that  religion  as 
such  must  not  be  mixed  with  politics  there  is  a  pro- 
found truth.  Here,  for  instance,  the  Saviour  will  not 
meddle  with  the  question.  He  stands  aloof,  sublime 
and  dignified.  It  was  no  part  of  His  to  take  from  the 
oppressor  and  give  to  the  oppressed,  much  less  to  en- 
courage the  oppressed  to  take  from  the  oppressor  him- 
self It  was  His  part  to  forbid  oppression.  It  was  a 
Judge's  part  to  decide  what  oppression  was.  It  was 
not  His  office  to  determine  the  boundaries  of  civil 
light,  nor  to  lay  down  the  rules  of  the  descent  of  pro]> 
erty.  Of  course,  there  was  a  spiritual  and  moral  prin- 
ciple involved  in  this  question.  But  He  would  not 
suffer  His  sublime  mission  to  degenerate  into  the  mere 
task  of  deciding  casuistry. 

He  asserted  principles  of  love,  unselfishness,  order, 
which  would  decide  all  questions ;  but  the  questions 
themselves  He  would  not  decide.  He  would  lay  down 
the  great  political  principle,  "  Render  unto  Csesar  the 
things  that  be  Caesar's,  and  unto  God  the  things  which 
are  God's."  But  He  would  not  determine  whether  this 
particular  tax  was  due  to  Cccsar  or  not. 

So,  too.  He  would  say,  Justice,  hke  Mercy  and  Tm*H 


Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritance.      35 

18  one  of  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law ;  but  He 
would  not  decide  whether,  in  this  definite  case,  this  or 
that  brother  had  justice  on  his  side.  It  was  for  them- 
selves to  determine  that,  and  in  that  determination  lay 
their  responsibility. 

And  thus  religion  deals  with  men,  not  cases ;  with 
human  hearts,  not  casuistry. 

Christianity  determines  general  principles,  out  of 
which  no  doubt  the  best  government  would  surely 
spring ;  but  what  the  best  government  is  it  does  not 
determine  —  whether  Monarchy  or  a  Republic,  an  Aris- 
tocracy or  a  Democracy. 

It  lays  down  a  great  social  law  :  Masters,  give  unto 
your  servants  that  which  is  just  and  equal.  But  it  is 
not  its  part  to  declare  how  much  is  just  and  equal.  It 
has  no  fixed  scale  of  wages  according  to  which  masters 
must  give.  That  it  leaves  to  each  master,  and  each  age 
of  society. 

It  binds  up  men  in  a  holy  brotherhood.  But  what 
are  the  best  institutions  and  surest  means  for  arriving 
at  this  brotherhood  it  has  not  said.  In  particular,  it 
has  not  pronounced  whether  competition  or  coopera- 
tion will  secure  it. 

And  hence  it  comes  to  pass  that  Christianity  is  the 
Eternal  Religion,  which  can  never  become  obsolete.  If 
it  sets  itself  to  determine  the  temporary  and  the  local, — 
the  justice  of  this  tax,  or  the  exact  wrongs  of  that  con- 
ventional maxim, — it  would  soon  become  obsolete:  it 
would  be  the  religion  of  one  century,  not  of  all.  As  it 
is,  it  commits  itself  to  nothing  except  Eternal  Prin- 
ciples. 

It  is  not  sent  into  this  world  to  establish  monarchy, 
or  secure  the  franchise ;   to  establish  socialism,  or  to 


36      cheist's  judgment  kespecting  inheeitance. 

frown  it  into  annihilation ;  but  to  establish  a  Charity, 
and  a  Moderation,  and  a  sense  of  Duty,  and  a  love  of 
Right,  which  will  modify  human  life  according  to  any 
circumstances  that  can  possibly  arise. 

2.  In  this  refusal,  again,  it  was  implied  that  His 
kingdom  was  one  founded  on  spiritual  disposition,  not 
one  of  outward  Law  and  Jurisprudence. 

That  this  lawsuit  should  have  been  decided  by  the 
brothers  themselves,  in  love,  with  mutual  fairness, 
would  have  been  much ;  that  it  should  be  determined 
by  authoritative  arbitration  was,  spiritually  speaking, 
nothing.  The  right  disposition  of  their  hearts,  and  the 
right  division  of  their  property  thence  resulting,  was 
Christ's  kingdom.  The  apportionment  of  their  prop- 
erty by  another's  division  had  nothing  to  do  with  His 
kingdom. 

Suppose  that  both  were  wrong :  one  oppressive,  the 
other  covetous.  Then,  that  the  oppressor  should  be- 
come generous,  and  the  covetous  liberal,  were  a  great 
gain.  But,  to  take  from  one  selfish  brother  in  order  to 
give  to  another  selfish  brother,  what  spiritual  gain 
would  there  have  been  in  this  ? 

Suppose,  again,  that  the  retainer  of  the  inheritance 
was  in  the  wrong,  and  that  the  petitioner  had  justice 
on  his  side ;  that  he  was  a  humble,  meek  man,  and  his 
petition  only  one  of  right.  Well,  to  take  the  property 
from  the  unjust  and  give  it  to  Christ's  servant,  might 
be,  and  was,  the  duty  of  a  Judge.  But  it  was  not 
Christ's  part,  nor  any  gain  to  the  cause  of  Christ.  He 
does  not  reward  His  servants  with  inheritances — with 
lands,  houses,  gold.  "  The  kingdom  of  God  is  not 
meat  and  drink ;  but  righteousness,  and  peace,  and  joy 
in  the  Holy  Ghost."    Christ  triumphs  by  wrongs  meekly 


Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritance.      37 

borne,  even  more  than  by  wrongs  legally  righted. 
What  we  call  poetical  justice  is  not  His  kingdom. 

To  apply  this  to  the  question  of  the  day.  The  great 
problem  which  lies  before  Europe  for  solution  is,  or 
will  be,  this :  Whether  the  present  possessors  of  the 
soil  have  an  exclusive  right  to  do  what  they  will  with 
their  own ;  or  whether  a  larger  claim  may  be  put  in  by 
the  workman  for  a  share  in  the  profits  ?  Whether  Cap- 
ital has  hitherto  given  tp  Labor  its  just  part  or  not? 
Labor  is  at  present  making  an  appeal,  like  that  of  this 
petitioner,  to  the  Church,  to  the  Bible,  to  God.  "  Mas- 
ter, speak  unto  my  brother,  that  he  divide  the  inherit- 
ance with  me." 

Now,  in  the  mere  setting  of  that  question  to  rest, 
Christianity  is  not  interested.  That  landlords  should 
become  more  liberal,  and  employers  more  merciful,  — 
that  tenants  should  be  more  honorable,  and  workmen 
joaore  unselfish, — that  would  be  indeed  a  glorious  thing, 
a  triumph  of  Christ's  cause ;  and  any  arrangement 
of  the  inheritance  thence  resulting  would  be  a  real 
coming  of  the  kingdom.  But  whether  the  soil  of  the 
country  and  its  capital  shall  remain  the  property  of 
the  rich,  or  become  more  available  for  the  poor,  —  the 
rich  and  the  poor  remaining  as  selfish  as  before ; — 
whether  the  selfish  rich  shall  be  able  to  keep,  or  the 
selfish  poor  to  take,  is  a  matter,  religiously  speaking, 
of  profound  indifference.  Which  of  the  brothers  shall 
have  the  inheritance,  the  monopolist  or  the  covetous? 
Either  —  neither ;  who  cares  ?  Fifty  years  hence,  what 
wiU  it  matter?  But  a  hundred  thousand  years  hence 
it  will  matter  whether  they  settled  the  question  by 
mutual  generosity  and  forbearance. 

3.  I  remark  a  tiurd  thing.  He  refused  to  be  the 
4 


38      Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritance. 

friend  of  one,  because  He  was  the  friend  of  both.  lie 
never  was  the  champion  of  a  class,  because  He  waa 
the  champion  of  Humanity. 

We  may  take  for  granted  that  the  petitioner  was 
an  injured  man,  —  one,  at  all  events,  who  thought  him- 
self injured ;  and  Christ  had  often  taught  the  spirit 
which  would  have  made  his  brother  right  him :  but  Ho 
refused  to  take  his  part  against  his  brother,  just  be- 
cause he  was  his  brother,  Chi^ist's  servant,  and  one  of 
God's  family,  as  well  as  he. 

And  this  was  His  spirit  always.  The  Pharisees 
thought  to  commit  Him  to  a  side,  when  they  asked 
whether  it  was  lawful  to  give  tribute  to  Caesar  or  not. 
But  He  would  take  no  side  as  the  Christ :  neither  the 
part  of  the  government  against  the  tax-payers,  nor 
the  part  of  the  tax-payers  against  the  government. 

Now,  it  is  a  common  thing  to  hear  of  the  rights  of 
man,  —  a  glorious  and  a  true  saying;  but,  as  commonl_j 
used,  the  expression  only  means  the  rights  of  a  sec- 
tion or  class  of  men.  And  it  is  very  worthy  of 
remark,  that  in  these  social  quarrels  both  sides  appeal 
to  Christ  and  to  the  Bible  as  the  champions  of  their 
rights,  precisely  in  the  same  way  in  which  this  man 
appealed  to  Him.  One  class  appeal  to  the  Bible,  as  if 
it  were  the  great  Arbiter  which  decrees  that  the  poor 
shall  be  humble,  and  the  subject  submissive ;  and  the 
other  class  appeal  to  the  same  book  triumphantly,  as  if 
•t  were  exclusivel}^  on  their  side :  its  peculiar  blessed- 
aess  consisting  in  this  —  that  it  commands  the  rich  to 
divide  the  inheritance,  and  the  ruler  to  impose  nothing 
'hat  is  unjust. 

In  either  of  these  cases,  Christianity  is  degraded, 
und  the  Bible  misused.     They  are  not  as  thev  have 


Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritance.      39 

been  made — 0  shame  !  —  for  centuries,  the  servile  de- 
fenders of  Rank  and  Wealth,  nor  are  they  the  pliant 
advocates  of  discontent  and  rebellion. 

The  Bible  takes  neither  the  part  of  the  poor  against 
the  rich  exclusively,  nor  that  of  the  rich  against  the 
poor ;  and  this  because  it  proclaims  a  real,  deep,  true, 
and  not  a  revolutionary  brotherhood. 

The  brotherhood  of  which  we  hear  so  much  is  often 
only  a  one-sided  brotheiiiood.  It  demands  that  the 
rich  shall  treat  the  poor  as  brothers.  It  has  a  right  to 
do  so.  It  is  a  brave  and  a  just  demand :  but  it  forgets 
that  the  obligation  is  mutual ;  that,  in  spite  of  his  many 
faults,  the  rich  man  is  the  poor  man's  brother,  and  that 
the  poor  man  is  bound  to  recognize  him  and  feel  for 
him  as  a  brother. 

It  requires  that  every  candid  allowance  shall  be 
made  for  the  vices  of  the  poorer  classes,  in  virtue  of 
the  circumstances  which,  so  to  speak,  seem  to  mako 
such  vices  inevitable  :  for  their  harlotry,  their  drunken- 
ness, their  uncleanness,  their  insubordination.  Let  it 
enforce  that  demand ;  it  may  and  must  do  it  in  the 
name  of  Christ.  He  was  mercifully  and  mournfully 
gentle  to  those  who,  through  terrible  temptation  and 
social  injustice,  had  sunk;  and  sunk  into  misery  at 
least  as  much  as  into  sin.  But,  then,  let  it  not  be  for- 
gotten that  some  sympathy  must  be  also  due,  on  the 
same  score  of  circumstances,  to  the  rich  man.  Wealth 
has  its  temptations, —  so  has  power.  The  vices  of  the 
rich  are  his  forgetfulness  of  responsibility,  his  indo- 
lence, his  extravagance,  his  ignorance  of  wretched- 
ness. These  must  be  looked  upon,  not,  certainly,  with 
weak  excuses,  but  with  a  brother's  eye,  by  the  poor 
man,  if  he  will  assert  a  brotherhood.     It  is  not  just  to 


40      Christ's  judgment  eespecting  inheritance. 

attribute  all  to  circumstances  in  the  one  case,  and 
nothing  in  the  other.  It  is  not  brotherhood  to  say 
that  the  laborer  does  wrong  because  he  is  tempted, 
and  the  man  of  wealth  because  he  is  intrinsically  bad. 

II.  The  Source  to  which  He  traced  this  appeal  for 
a  division. 

Now,  it  is  almost  certain  that  the  reflection  which 
arose  to  the  lips  of  Christ  is  not  the  one  which  would 
have  presented  itself  to  us  under  similar  circum- 
stances. We  should  probably  have  sneered  at  the 
state  of  the  law  in  which  a  lawsuit  could  obtain  no 
prompt  decision,  and  injury  get  no  redress:  or,  we 
should  have  remarked  upon  the  evils  of  the  system  of 
primogeniture,  and  asked  whether  it  were  just  that  one 
brother  should  have  all,  and  the  others  none :  or,  we 
might,  perhaps,  have  denounced  the  injustice  of  per- 
mitting privileged  classes  at  all. 

He  did  nothing  of  this  kind :  He  did  not  sneer  at 
the  law,  nor  inveigh  against  the  system,  nor  denounce 
the  privileged  classes.  He  went  deeper  —  to  the  very 
loot  of  the  matter.  "  Take  heed,  and  beware  of  covet- 
ousness."  It  was  covetousness  which  caused  the  un- 
just brother  to  withhold;  it  was  covetousness  which 
made  the  defrauded  brother  indignantly  complain  to  a 
stranger.  It  is  covetousness  which  is  at  the  bottom 
of  all  lawsuits,  all  social  grievances,  all  political  fac- 
tions. So  St.  James  traces  the  genealogy.  "From 
whence  come  wars  and  fightings  among  you?  Come 
they  not  hence,  even  from  your  lusts  which  reign  in 
your  flesh?" 

Covetousness:  the  covetousness  of  all.  Of  the 
oppressed   as   well   as    the    oppressor;    for    the   cry, 


Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritance.      41 

"  Divide,"  has  its  root  in  covetousness  just  as  truly  as 
"  1  will  not."  There  are  no  innocent  classes ;  no 
devils  who  oppress,  and  angels  who  are  oppressed. 
The  guilt  of  a  false  social  state  must  be  equally 
divided. 

We  will  consider  somewhat  more  deeply  this  covet- 
ousness. In  the  original  the  word  is  a  very  expressive 
one.  It  means  the  desire  of  having  more,  —  not  of 
having  more  because  the?e  is  not  enough,  but  simply 
a  craving  after  more.  More  when  a  man  has  not 
enough,  —  more  when  he  has.  More — more.  Ever 
more.     Give  —  give.     Divide  —  Divide. 

^This  craving  is  not  universal.  Individuals  and 
whole  nations  are  without  it.  There  are  some  na- 
tions the  condition  of  whose  further  civilization  is 
that  the  desire  of  accumulation  be  increased.  They 
are  too  indolent  or  too  unambitious  to  be  covetous. 
Energy  is  awakened  when  wants  are  immediate,  press- 
ing, present ;  but  ceases  with  the  gratification. 

There  are  other  nations  in  which  the  craving  is  ex- 
cessive, even  to  disease.  Preeminent  among  these  is 
England.  This  desire  of  accumulation  is  the  source 
of  all  our  greatness  and  all  our  baseness.  It  is  at 
once  our  glory  and  our  shame.  It  is  the  cause  of  our 
commerce,  of  our  navy,  of  our  military  triumphs,  of 
our  enormous  wealth,  and  our  marvellous  inventions. 
And  it  is  the  cause  of  our  factions  and  animosities,  of 
our  squalid  pauperism,  and  the  worse  than  heathen 
degradation  of  the  masses  of  our  population. 

That  which  makes  this  the  more'  marvellous  is,  that 
of  all  nations  on  the  earth  none  are  so  incapable  of 
enjoyment  as  we.  God  has  not  given  to  us  that 
delicate  development  which   He  has  given  to  other 


42      cheist's  judgment  respecting  inheritance. 

races.  Our  sense  of  harmony  is  dull  and  rare ;  oui 
perception  of  beauty  is  not  keen.  An  English  hoh- 
day  is  rude  and  boisterous.  If  protracted,  it  ends 
in  ennui  and  self-dissatisfaction.  We  cannot  enjoy. 
Work,  the  law  of  human  nature,  is  the  very  need  of 
an  English  nature.  That  cold  shade  of  Puritanism 
which  passed  over  us,  sullenly  eclipsing  all  grace  and 
enjoyment,  was  but  the  shadow  of  our  own  melan- 
choly, unenjoying  national  character. 

And  yet  we  go  on  accumulating,  as  if  we  could 
enjoy  more  by  having  more.  To  quit  the  class  in 
which  they  are,  and  rise  into  that  above,  is  the  yearly, 
daily,  hourly  effort  of  millions  in  this  land.  And  tfeis 
were  well,  if  this  word  "  above  "  implied  a  reahty ;  if 
it  meant  higher  intellectually,  morally,  or  even  physi- 
cally. But  the  truth  is,  it  is  only  higher  fictitiously. 
The  middle  classes  already  have  every  real  enjoyment 
which  the  wealthiest  can  have.  The  only  thing  they 
have  not  is  the  ostentation  of  the  means  of  enjoy- 
ment. More  would  enable  them  to  multiply  equipages, 
houses,  books  :  it  could  not  enable  them  to  enjoy  them 
more. 

Thus,  then,  we  have  reached  the  root  of  the  matter. 
Our  national  craving  is,  in  the  proper  meaning  of  the 
term,  covetousness.  Not  the  desire  of  enjoying  more, 
but  the  desire  of  having  more. 

And  if  there  be  a  country,  a  society,  a  people,  to 
whom  this  warning  is  specially  applicable,  that  coun- 
try is  England,  that  society  our  own,  that  people  we. 
"  Take  heed  and  be'ware  of  covetousness." 

The  true  remedy  for  this  covetousness  He  then  pro- 
ceeds to  give.  "  A  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the 
abundance  of  the  things  which  he  possesses." 


chbtst's  judgment  eespecting  inheritance.      43 

Now,  observe  the  distinction  between  His  view  and 
the  world's  view  of  humanity.  To  the  question,  "What 
is  a  man  worth?  the  world  replies  by  enumerating 
what  he  has.  In  reply  to  the  same  question,  the  Son 
of  Man  replies  by  estimating  what  he  is.  Not  what 
he  has,  but  what  he  is — that,  through  time  and  through 
eternity,  is  his  real  and  proper  life.  He  declared  the 
presence  of  the  soul ;  He  announced  the  dignity  of 
the  spiritual  man ;  He  revealed  the  being  that  we  are. 
Not  that  which  is  supported  by  meat  and  drink,  but 
that  whose  very  life  is  in  Truth,  Integrity,  Honor, 
Purity.  "  Skin  for  skin,"  was  the  satanic  version  of  this 
matter:  "  AU  that  a  man  hath  wiU  he  give  for  his  life." 
"  What  shaU  it  profit  a  man,"  was  the  Saviour's  an- 
nouncement, "  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and 
lose  his  own  soul  ?  " 

For  the  oppressed  and  the  defrauded  this  was  the 
true  consolation  and  compensation.  The  true  conso- 
lation. This  man  had  lost  so  much  loss.  WeU ;  how 
is  he  consoled  ?  By  the  thought  of  retaliation  ?  By 
the  promise  of  revenge  ?  By  the  assurance  that  he 
shall  have  what  he  ought  by  right  to  have  ?  Nay ;  but 
thus  —  as  it  were :  Thou  hast  lost  so  much,  but  thyself 
remains.  "A  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abun- 
dance of  the  things  which  he  possesses." 

Most  assuredly  Christianity  proclaims  laws  which 
will  eventually  give  to  each  man  his  rights.  I  do  not 
deny  this.  But  I  say  that  the  hope  of  these  rights  is 
not  the  message,  nor  the  promise,  nor  the  consolation, 
of  Christianity.  Rather  they  consist  in  the  assertion 
of  the  true  Life,  instead  of  all  other  hopes ;  of  the 
substitution  of  blessedness,  which  is  inward  character, 
for  happiness,  which  is  outward  satisfactions  of  desire. 


44      Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritance. 

For  the  broken-hearted,  the  peace  which  the  world 
cannot  give.  For  the  poor,  the  life  which  destitution 
cannot  take  away.  For  the  persecuted,  the  thought 
that  they  are  the  children  of  their  Father  which  is  in 
heaven. 

A  very  striking  instance  of  this  is  found  in  the  con- 
solation offered  by  St.  Paul  to  slaves.  How  did  he 
reconcile  them  to  their  lot?  By  promising  that  Chris- 
tianity would  produce  the  abolition  of  the  slave-trade? 
No ;  though  this  was  to  be  effected  by  Christianity ; 
but  by  assuring  them  that,  though  slaves,  they  might 
be  inly  free  —  Christ's  freedmen.  Art  thou  called, 
being  a  slave  ?     Care  not  for  it. 

This,  too,  was  the  real  compensation  offered  by 
Christianity  for  injuries. 

The  other  brother  had  the  inheritance ;  and  to  win 
the  inheritance  he  had  laid  upon  his  soul  the  guilt  of 
injustice.  His  advantage  was  the  property ;  the  price 
he  paid  for  that  advantage  was  a  hard  heart.  The  in- 
jured brother  had  no  inheritance,  but  instead  he  had, 
or  might  have  had,  innocence,  and  the  conscious  joy 
of  knowing  that  he  was  not  the  injurer.  Herein  lay 
the  balance. 

Now,  there  is  great  inconsistency  between  the  com 
plaints  and  claims  that  are  commonly  made  on  these 
subjects.  There  are  outcries  against  the  insolence 
of  power,  and  the  hard-hearted  selfishness  of  wealth. 
Only  too  often  these  cries  have  a  foundation  of  jus- 
tice. But  be  it  remembered  that  these  are  precisely 
ths  cost  at  which  the  advantages,  such  as  they  are, 
are  purchased.  The  price  which  the  man  in  authority 
has  paid  for  power  is  the  temptation  to  be  insolent. 
He   has   yielded   to   the  temptation,  and  bought  his 


Christ's  judgment  respecting  inheritanx;e.      45 

advantage  dear.  The  price  wliich  the  rich  man  pays 
for  his  wealth  is  the  temptation  to  be  selfish.  They 
have  paid  in  spirituals  for  what  they  have  gained  in 
temporals.  Now,  if  you  are  crying  for  a  share  in  that 
wealth,  and  a  participation  in  that  power,  you  must  be 
content  to  run  the  risk  of  becoming  as  hard,  an'd  self- 
ish, and  overbearing,  as  the  man  whom  you  denounce. 
Blame  their  sins,  if  you  will,  or  despise  their  advan- 
tages ;  but  do  not  think  'that  you  can  covet  their  ad- 
vantages and  keep  clear  of  their  temptations.  God  is 
on  the  side  of  the  poor,  and  the  persecuted,  and  the 
mourners,  —  a  light  in  darkness,  and  a  life  in  death. 
But  the  poverty,  and  the  persecution,  and  the  dark- 
ness, are  the  condition  on  which  they  feel  God's  pres- 
ence. They  must  not  expect  to  have  the  enjoyment 
of  wealth  and  the  spiritual  blessings  annexed  to  pov- 
erty at  the  same  time.  If  you  will  be  rich,  you  must 
be  content  to  pay  the  price  of  falling  into  temptation, 
and  a  snare,  and  many  foolish  and  hurtful  lusts,  which 
drown  men  in  perdition ;  and  if  that  price  be  too  high 
to  pay,  then  you  must  be  content  with  the  quiet  val- 
leys of  existence,  where  alone  it  is  well  with  us ;  kept 
out  of  the  inheritance,  but  having  instead  God  for 
your  portion,  your  all-sufficient  and  everlasting  por» 
tion — peace,  and  quietness,  and  rest  with  Christ. 


II. 

[Preached  January  6,  1850.] 
THE    STAR    IN    THE    EAST. 

Matt.  ii.  1,  2.  — "  Now  when  Jesus  was  born  in  Bethlehem  of  Judea, 
in  the  days  of  Herod  the  king,  behold  there  came  wise  men  from  the 
east  to  Jerusalem,  saying.  Where  is  he  that  is  born  King  of  the 
Jews  ?  for  we  have  seen  his  star  in  the  east,  and  are  come  to  worship 
him." 

Our  subject  is  the  Manifestation  of  Christ  to  the 
Gentiles.  The  King  of  the  Jews  has  become  the 
Sovereign  of  the  world ;  a  fact,  one  would  think, 
which  must  cause  a  secret  complacency  in  the  heart 
of  all  Jews.  For  that  which  is  most  deeply  working 
in  modern  life  and  thought  is  the  Mind  of  Christ.  His 
name  has  passed  over  our  institutions,  and  much  more 
has  His  Spirit  penetrated  into  our  social  and  domestic 
existence.  In  other  words,  a  Hebrew  mind  is  now, 
and  has  been  for  centuries,  ruling  Europe. 

But  the  Gospel  which  He  proclaimed  was  not  lim- 
ited to  the  Hebrews ;  it  was  a  Gospel  for  the  nations. 
By  the  death  of  Christ,  God  had  struck  his  death- 
blew  at  the  root  of  the  hereditary  principle.  "We 
be  the  seed  of  Abraham,"  was  the  proud  pretension 
of  the  Israelite ;  and  he  was  told  that  spiritual  dignity 
rests  not   upon  spiritual  descent,  but  upon  spiritual 

(16) 


THE   STAR    IN   THE   EAST.  47 

character.  New  tribes  were  adopted  into  the  Chris- 
tian union ;  and  it  became  clear  that  there  was  no 
distinction  of  race  in  the  spiritual  family.  The  Jew- 
ish rite  of  circumcision,  a  symbol  of  exclusiveness, 
cutting  off  one  nation  from  all  others,  was  exchanged 
for  Baptism,  the  symbol  of  universality,  proclaiming 
the  nearness  of  all  to  God,  His  Paternity  over  the 
human  race,  and  the  Sonship  of  all  who  chose  to 
claim  their  privileges.        • 

This  was  a  Gospel  for  the  world ;  and  nation  after 
nation  accepted  it.  Churches  were  formed  ;  the  King- 
dom which  is  the  domain  of  Love  grew ;  the  Roman 
empire  crumbled  into  fragments ;  but  every  fragment 
was  found  pregnant  with  life.  It  broke  not  as  some 
ancient  temple  might  break,  its  broken  pieces  lying  in 
lifeless  ruin,  overgrown  with  weeds  :  rather  as  one  of 
those  mysterious  animals  break,  of  which  if  you  rend 
them  asunder,  every  separate  portion  forms  itself  into 
a  new  and  complete  existence.  Rome  gave  way; 
but  every  portion  became  a  Christian  kingdom,  alive 
with  the  mind  of  Christ,  and  developing  the  Christian 
idea  after  its  own  peculiar  nature. 

The  portion  of  Scripture  selected  for  the  text  and 
for  the  Gospel  of  the  day  has  an  important  bearing 
on  this  great  Epiphany.  The  "  wise  men "  belonged 
to  a  creed  of  very  hoary  and  venerable  antiquity ;  a 
system,  too,  which  had  in  it  the  elements  of  strong 
vitality.  For  seven  centuries  after,  the  Mahometan 
sword  scarcely  availed  to  extirpate  it,  —  indeed,  could 
not.  They  whom  the  Mahometans  called  fire-worship- 
pers clung  to  their  creed  with  vigor  and  tenacity 
indestructible,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts. 

Here,  then,  in  this  act  of  homage  to  the  Messiah, 


48  THE  STAR  IN   THE   EAST. 

were  the  representatives  of  the  highest  then  existing 
influences  of  the  world,  doing  homage  to  the  Lord  of 
a  mightier  influence,  and  reverently  bending  before 
the  dawn  of  the  Star  of  a  new  and  brighter  Day.  It 
was  the  first  distinct  turning  of  the  Gentile  mind  to 
Christ  —  the  first  instinctive  craving  after  a  something 
higher  than  Gentilism  could  ever  satisfy. 

In  this  light  our  thoughts  arrange  themselves  thus  : 

I.  The  expectation  of  the  Gentiles. 

II.  The  Manifestation  or  Epiphany. 

I.  The  expectation :  "  Where  is  He  that  is  born 
King  of  the  Jews  ?  for  we  have  seen  His  star  in  the 
east,  and  are  come  to  worship  Him." 

Observe,  1.  The  craving  for  Eternal  Life.  The 
"  wise  men  "  were  "  Magians,"  that  is,  Persian  priests. 
The  name,  however,  was  extended  to  all  the  eastern 
philosophers  who  professed  that  religion,  or  even  that 
philosophy.  The  Magians  were  chiefly  distinguished 
by  being  worshippers  of  the  stars,  or  students  of 
astronomy. 

Now,  astronomy  is  a  science  which  arises  from  man's 
need  of  religion:  other  sciences  spring  out  of  wants 
bounded  by  this  life.  For  instance,  anatomy  presuj)- 
poses  disease.  There  would  be  no  prying  into  our 
animal  frame,  no  anatomy,  were  there  not  a  malady  to 
stimulate  the  inquiry.  Navigation  arises  from  the 
necessity  of  traversing  the  seas  to  appropiiate  the 
produce  of  other  countries.  Charts,  and  maps,  and 
soundings,  are  made,  because  of  a  felt  earthly  want. 
But  in  astronomy  the  first  impulse  of  mankind  came 
not  from  the  craving  of  the  intellect,  but  from  the 
necessities  of  the  soul. 


THE   STAR  IN  THE   EAST.  49 

If  j'^ou  search  down  into  the  constitution  of  your 
being  till  you  come  to  the  lowest  deep  of  all,  underly- 
ing all  other  wants  you  will  find  a  craving  for  what  is 
infinite ;  a  something  that  desires  perfection ;  a  wish 
that  nothing  but  the  thought  of  that  which  is  eternal 
can  satisfy.  To  the  untutored  mind  nowhere  was  that 
want  so  called  into  consciousness,  perhaps,  as  beneath 
the  mighty  skies  of  the  !^ast.  Serene  and  beautiful 
are  the  nights  in  Persia,  and  many  a  wise  man  in  earlier 
days,  full  of  deep  thoughts,  went  out  into  the  fields, 
like  Isaac,  to  meditate  at  eventide.  God  has  so  made 
us  that  the  very  act  of  looking  up  produces  in  us  per- 
ceptions of  the  sublime.  And  then  those  skies  in  their 
calm  depths  mirroring  that  which  is  boundless  in  space 
and  illimitable  in  time,  with  a  silence  profound  as  death 
and  a  motion  gliding  on  forever,  as  if  symbolizing 
eternity  of  life,  —  no  wonder  if  men  associated  with 
them  their  highest  thoughts,  and  conceived  them  to 
be  the  home  of  Deity.  No  wonder  if  an  Eternal  Des- 
tiny seemed  to  sit  enthroned  there.  No  wonder  if 
they  seemed  to  have  in  their  mystic  motion  an  invisi- 
ble sympathy  with  human  life  and  its  mysterious  desti- 
nies. No  wonder  if  he  who  best  could  read  their  laws 
was  reckoned  best  able  to  interpret  the  duties  of  this 
life,  and  all  that  connects  man  with  that  which  is  invisi- 
ble. No  wonder  if  in  those  devout  days  of  young 
thought,  science  was  only  another  name  for  religion, 
and  the  Priest  of  the  great  temple  of  the  universe  was 
also  the  Priest  in  the  temple  made  with  hands.  As- 
tronomy was  the  religion  of  the  world's  youth. 

The  Magians  were  led  by  the  star  to  Christ ;  their 
astronomy  was  the  very  pathway  to  their  Saviour. 

Upon  this  I  make  one  or  two  remarks. 
6 


60  THE  STAE   IN   THE   EAST. 

1.  The  folly  of  depreciating  human  wisdom.  Of  all 
vanities  the  worst  is  the  vanity  of  ignorance.  It  is 
common  enough  to  hear  learning  decried,  as  if  it  were 
an  opposite  of  religion.  If  that  means  that  science  is 
not  religion,  and  that  the  man  who  can  calculate  tha 
motions  of  the  stars  may  never  have  bowed  his  soul  to 
Christ,  it  contains  a  truth.  But  if  it  means,  as  it  often 
does,  that  leai-ning  is  a  positive  encumbrance  and  hir.- 
drance  to  religion,  then  it  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  the 
God  of  nature  is  not  the  God  of  Gi'ace ;  that  the  more 
you  study  the  Creator's  works,  the  further  you  remove 
from  Himself;  nay,  we  must  go  further,  to  be  consist- 
ent, and  hold,  as  most  uncultivated  and  rude  nations 
do,  that  the  state  of  idiocy  is  nearest  to  that  of  inspi- 
ration. 

There  are  expressions  of  St.  Paul  often  quoted  as 
sanctioning  this  idea.  He  tells  his  converts  to  beware, 
"  lest  any  man  spoil  you  through  philosophy."  Where- 
upon we  take  for  granted  that  modern  philosophy  is  a 
kind  of  antagonist  to  Christianity.  This  is  one  instance 
out  of  many  of  the  way  in  which  an  ambiguous  word, 
misunderstood,  becomes  the  source  of  infinite  error. 
Let  us  hear  St.  Paul.  He  bids  Timothy  "  beware  of 
profane  and  old  wives'  fables."  He  speaks  of  "  endless 
genealogies,"  "  worshipping  of  angels,"  "  intruding 
into  those  things  which  men  have  not  seen."  This 
was  the  philosophy  of  those  days :  a  system  of  wild 
fancies  spun  out  of  the  brain,  —  somewhat  like  what 
we  might  now  call  demonolatry ;  but  as  different  from 
philosophy  as  any  two  things  can  dififer. 

They  forget,  too,  another  thing.  Philosophy  has 
become  Christian;  science  has  knelt  to  Christ.  There 
is  a  deep  significance  in  that  homage  of  the  Magians. 


THE  STAB  IN   THE   EAST.  51 

For  it  in  fact  was  but  a  specimen  and  type  of  that 
which  science  has  been  doing  ever  since.  The  mind 
of  Christ  has  not  only  entered  into  the  Temple,  and 
made  it  the  house  of  prayer  :  it  has  entered  into  the 
temple  of  science,  and  purified  the  spirit  of  philosophy. 
This  is  its  spirit  now,  as  expounded  by  its  chief  inter- 
preter :  "  Man,  the  interpreter  of  Nature,  knows  noth- 
ing, and  can  do  nothing,  except  that  which  Nature 
teaches  him."  What  is  this  but  science  bending  before 
the  Child,  becoming  childlike,  and,  instead  of  project- 
ing its  own  fancies  upon  God's  word,  listening  rever- 
ently to  hear  what  it  has  to  teach  him  ?  In  a  simiJcy 
spirit,  too,  spoke  the  greatest  of  philosophers,  in  words 
quoted  in  every  child's  book :  "  I  am  but  a  child,  pick- 
ing up  pebbles  on  the  shore  of  the  great  sea  of 
Truth." 

0 !  be  sure  all  the  universe  tells  of  Christ  and  leads 
to  Christ.  Rightly  those  ancient  Magians  deemed,  in 
believing  that  God  was  worshipped  truly  in  that  august 
temple.  The  stars  preach  the  mind  of  Christ.  Not  as 
of  old,  when  a  mystic  star  guided  their  feet  to  Bethle- 
hem :  but  now,  to  the  mind  of  the  astronomer,  they 
tell  of  Eternal  Order  and  Harmony ;  they  speak  of 
changeless  law  where  no  caprice  reigns.  You  may 
calculate  the  star's  return;  and  to  the  day,  and  hour, 
and  minute,  it  will  be  there.  This  is  the  fidelity  of 
God.  These  mute  masses  obey  the  law  impressed 
upon  them  by  their  Creator's  Hand,  unconsciously; 
and  that  law  is  the  law  of  their  own  nature.  To  un- 
derstand the  laws  of  our  nature,  and  consciously  and 
reverently  to  obey  them,  that  is  the  mind  of  Christ,  the 
Bublimest  spirit  of  the  Gospel. 

I  remark  again :  This  universe  may  be  studied  in  an 


52  THE   STAR   IN   THE   EAST. 

irreverent  spirit.  In  Dan.  ii.  48,  we  find  the  reverence 
which  was  paid  to  science.  Daniel  among  the  Chaldees 
was  made  chief  of  the  wise  men,  that  is,  the  first  of  the 
Magians ;  and  King  Nebuchadnezzar  bowed  before 
him,  with  incense  and  oblations.  In  later  days  we  find 
that  spirit  changed.  Another  king,  Herod,  commands 
the  wise  men  to  use  their  science  for  the  purpose  of 
letting  him  know  where  the  Child  was.  In  earlier 
times  they  honored  the  priest  of  nature :  in  later  times 
they  made  use  of  him-. 

Only  by  a  few  is  science  studied  now  in  the  sublime 
and  reverent  spirit  of  old  days.  A  vulgar  demand  for 
utility  has  taken  the  place  of  that  lowly  prostration 
with  which  the  world  listened  to  the  discoveries  of 
truth.  The  discovery  of  some  new  and  mighty  agent, 
by  which  the  east  and  west  are  brought  together  in  a 
moment,  awakens  chiefly  the  emotion  of  delight  in  us 
that  correspondence  and  travelling  will  be  quickened. 
The  merchant  congratulates  himself  upon  the  speedier 
arrival  of  the  news  which  will  give  him  the  start  of  his 
rivals,  and  enable  him  to  out-race  his  competitors  in 
the  competition  of  wealth.  Yet,  what  is  this  but  the 
utilitarian  spirit  of  Herod,  seeing  nothing  more  solemn 
in  a  mysterious  star  than  the  means  whereby  he  might 
crush  his  supposed  Rival? 

There  is  a  spirit  which  believes  that  "  godliness  is 
gain,"  and  aims  at  being  godly  for  the  sake  of  advan- 
tage ;  which  is  honest,  because  honesty  is  the  best 
policy ;  which  says.  Do  right,  and  you  will  be  the 
better  —  that  is,  the  richer  —  for  it.  There  is  a  spirit 
which  seeks  for  wisdom  simply  as  a  means  to  an 
earthly  end,  —  and  that  often  a  mean  one.  This  is  a 
spirit  rebuked  by  the  nobler  reverence  of  the  earlier 


THE   STAR   IN  THE   EAST.  53 

Qays  of  Magianism.  Knowledge  for  its  own  pure  sake. 
God  for  His  own  sake.  Truth  for  the  sake  of  truth. 
This  was  the  reason  for  which,  in  earlier  days,  men 
read  the  aspect  of  the  heavens. 

2.  Next,  in  this  craving  of  the  Gentiles,  we  meet 
with  traces  of  the  yearning  of  the  human  soul  for 
light.  The  Magian  system  was  called  the  system  of 
Light  about  seven  centuries  B.  c.  A  great  reformer 
(Zoroaster)  had  appeared,  who  either  restored  the  sys- 
tem to  its  purity,  or  created  out  of  it  a  new  system. 
He  said  that  Light  is  Eternal,  —  that  the  Lord  of  the 
Universe  is  Light ;  but,  because  there  was  an  eternal 
Light,  there  was  also  an  eternal  possibility  of  the  ab- 
sence of  Light.  Light  and  Darkness,  therefore,  were 
the  eternal  principles  of  the  universe,  —  not  equal 
principles,  but  one  the  negation  of  the  other.  He 
taught  that  the  soul  of  man  needs  light,  —  a  light  ex- 
ternal to  itself,  as  well  as  in  itself  As  the  eye  cannot 
Bee  in  darkness,  and  is  useless,  so  is  there  a  capacity 
in  the  soul  for  light :  but  it  is  not  itself  light ;  it  needs 
the  Everlasting  light  from  outside  itself. 

Hence  the  stars  became  worshipped  as  the  symbols 
of  this  light.  But  by  degrees  these  stars  began  to 
stand  in  the  place  of  the  Light  Himself  This  was 
the  state  of  things  in  the  days  of  these  Magians. 

Magianism  was  now  midway  between  its  glory  and 
its  decline.  For  its  glory  we  must  go  back  to  the 
days  of  Daniel,  when  a  monarch  felt  it  his  privilege  to 
do  honor  to  the  priest  of  Light ;  when  that  priest 
was  the  sole  medium  of  communication  between 
Deity  and  man,  and  through  him  alone  "  Oromasdes  " 
made  his  revelations  known ;  when  the  law  given 
by  the  Magian,  revealed  by  the  eternal  stars,  was 
6» 


64  THE   STAR  IN  THE  EAST. 

"  the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  which  altereth 
not."  For  its  lowest  degradation  we  must  pass  over 
about  half  a  century  from- the  time  we  are  now  con- 
sidering, till  we  find  ourselves  in  Samaria,  in  the 
presence  of  Simon  the  Magian.  He  gave  himself  out 
for  the  great  power  of  God.  He  prostituted  such 
powers  and  knowledge  as  he  possessed  to  the  object 
of  making  gain.  Half  dupe,  half  impostor,  in  him  the 
noble  system  of  light  had  sunk  to  petty  charlatanism : 
Magianism  had  degenerated  into  Magic. 

Midway  between  these  two  periods,  or  rather  nearer 
to  the  latter,  stood  the  Magian  of  the  text.  There  is 
a  time  in  the  history  of  every  superstition  when  it  is 
respectable,  even  deserving  reverence,  when  men  be- 
lieved it ;  when  it  is  in  fact  associated  with  the  highest 
feelings  that  are  in  man,  and  the  channel  even  for 
God's  manifestation  to  the  soul.  And  there  is  a  time 
when  it  becomes  less  and  less  credible,  when  clearer 
science  is  superseding  its  pretensions  ;  and  then  is  the 
period  in  which  one  class  of  men,  like  Simon,  keep  up 
the  imposture :  the  priests,  who  will  not  let  the  old 
superstition  die,  but  go  on,  half  impostors,  half 
deceived  by  the  strong  delusion  wherewith  they 
believe  their  own  lie.  Another  class,  like  Herod,  the 
wise  men  of  the  world,  who  patronize  it  for  their  own 
purposes,  and  make  use  of  it  as  an  engine  of  state. 
Another  still,  who  turn  from  side  to  side,  feeling  with 
horror  the  old,  and  all  that  they  held  dear,  crumbling 
away  beneath  them,  —  the  ancient  lights  going  out,  — 
jore  than  half  suspecting  the  falsehood  of  all  the  rest, 
and,  with  an  earnestness  amounting  almost  to  agony, 
leaving  their  own  homes,  and  inquiring  for  fresh  light. 
Such  was  the  posture  of  these  Magians.     You  can- 


THE   STAR    IN   THE    EAST.  55 

not  enter  into  their  questions,  or  sympathize  with  tneir 
wants,  unless  you  realize  all  this.  For  that  desire  for 
light  is  one  of  the  most  impassioned  of  our  noble 
natures.  The  noble  prayer  of  the  ancient  world 
(Vv  ^e  (faet  teat  odeaaov'jj  "  Give  light,  and  let  us  die  :"  can 
we  not  feelit?  Light  —  light!  0,  if  the  result  were 
the  immediate  realization  of  the  old  fable,  and  the 
blasting  of  the  daring  spirit  in  the  moment  of  Revela- 
tion of  its  Grod, — yet  give  us  light.  The  wish  for 
light,  the  expectation  of  the  manifestation  of  God,  is 
the  mystery  which  lies  beneath  the  history  of  the 
whole  ancient  world. 

II.  The  Epiphany  itself. 

1.  They  found  a  king.  There  is  something  very 
significant  in  the  fact  of  that  king  being  discovered 
as  a  child.  The  royal  child  was  the  answer  to  their 
desires.  There  are  two  kinds  of  monarchy,  rule,  or 
command.  One  is  that  of  hereditary  title  ;  the  other 
is  that  of  Divine  Right.  There  are  kings  of  men's 
making,  and  kings  of  God's  making.  The  secret  of 
that  command  which  men  obey  involuntarily  is  sub 
mission  of  the  ruler  himself  to  law.  And  this  is  th& 
secret  of  the  Royalty  of  the  Humanity  of  Christ. 
No  principle  through  all  His  Life  is  more  striking, 
none  characterizes  it  so  peculiarly  as  His  submission 
to  another  Will.  "  I  came  not  to  do  mine  own  will, 
but  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me."  — "  The  words 
which  I  speak,  I  speak  not  of  myself"  His  commands 
are  not  arbitrary.  They  are  not  laws  given  on 
authority  only :  they  are  the  eternal  laws  of  our 
humanity,  to  which  He  Himself  submitted ;  the  obe- 
dience to  which  alone  can  make  our  being  attain  its 


56  THE   STAR   IN  THE  EAST. 

end.  This  is  the  secret  of  His  kingship,  —  "  He  b^ 
came  obedient  .  .  .  wherefore  God  also  hath  highly 
exalted  Him." 

And  this  is  the  secret  of  all  influence,  and  all  com- 
mand. Obedience  to  a  law  above  you  subjugates 
minds  to  you  who  never  would  have  yielded  to  mere 
Avill.     "  Rule  thyself,  thou  rulest  all." 

2.  Next,  observe  the  adoration  of  the  Magians  — 
very  touching  and  full  of  deep  truth.  The  wisest  of 
the  world  bending  before  the  Child.  Remember  the 
history  of  Magianism.  It  began  with  awe,  entering 
into  this  world  beneath  the  serene  skies  of  the  East : 
in  Wonder  and  Worship.  It  passed  into  priestcraft 
and  scepticism.  It  ended  in  Wonder  and  Adoration,  as 
it  had  begun ;  only  with  a  truer  and  nobler  meaning. 

This  is  but  a  representation  of  human  life.  "  Heaven 
lies  around  us  in  our  infancy."  The  child  looks  on 
this  world  of  God's  as  one,  not  many  —  all  beautiful  — 
wonderful  —  God's  —  the  creation  of  a  Father's  hand. 
The  man  dissects,  breaks  it  into  fragments ;  loses  love 
and  worship  in  speculation  and  reasoning ;  becomes 
more  manly,  more  independent,  and  less  irradiated 
with  a  sense  of  the  presence  of  the  Lord  of  all ;  till  at 
last,  after  many  a  devious  wandering,  if  he  be  one 
whom  the  Star  of  God  is  leading  blind  by  a  way  he 
knows  not,  he  begins  to  see  all  as  one  again,  and  God 
in  all.  Back  comes  the  Childlike  spirit  once  more  in 
the  Christianity  of  old  age.  We  kneel  before  the 
Child ;  we  feel  that  to  adore  is  greater  than  to  reason  ; 
to  love,  and  worship,  and  believe,  bring  the  soul  nearer 
heaven  than  scientific  analysis.  The  Child  is  nearer 
God  than  we. 

And  this,  too,  is  one  of  the  deep  sayings  of  Christ; 


THE   STAR   IN   THE   EAST.  57 

♦  Except  ye  be  converted  and  become  as  little  chil- 
dren, ye  shall  in  no  case  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven." 

3.  Lastly,  In  that  Epiphany  we  have  to  remark  the 
Magians'  joy.  They  had  seen  the  star  in  the  east. 
They  followed  it — it  seemed  to  go  out  in  dim  obscur- 
ity. They  went  about  inquiring:  asked  Herod,  who 
could  tell  them  nothing;  asked  the  scribes,  who  only 
gave  them  a  vague  direcfion.  At  last  the  star  shone 
out  once  more,  clear  before  them  in  their  path. 
"  When  they  saw  the  star,  they  rejoiced  with  exceed- 
ing great  joy." 

Perhaps  the  hearts  of  some  of  us  can  interpret  that. 
There  are  some  who  have  seen  the  star  that  shone 
in  earlier  days  go  out  —  quench  itself  in  black  vapors 
or  sour  smoke.  There  are  some  who  have  followed 
many  a  star  that  turned  out  to  be  but  an  ignis  fatuus, 
• —  one  of  those  bright  exhalations  which  hover  over 
marshes  and  church-yards,  and  only  lead  to  the  cham- 
bers of  the  dead,  or  the  cold,  damp  pits  of  disappoint- 
ment ;  and,  0,  the  blessing  of  "  exceeding  joy,"  after 
following  in  vain,  —  after  inquiring  of  the  great  men 
and  learning  nothing,  of  the  religious  men  and  find- 
ing little,  —  to  see  the  Star  at  last  resting  over  "  the 
place  where  the  young  Child  lies;"  —  after  groping 
the  way  alone,  to  see  the  star  stand  still,  —  to  find  that 
Religion  is  a  thing  far  simpler  than  we  thought;  that 
God  is  near  us,  that  to  kneel  and  adore  is  the  noblest 
posture  of  the  soul.  For,  whoever  will  follow  with 
fidelity  his  own  star,  God  will  guide  him  aright.  He 
spoke  to  the  Magians  by  the  star ;  to  the  shepherds,  by 
the  melody  of  the  heavenly  host ;  to  Joseph,  by  a 
dream  ;  to  Simeon,  by  an  inward  revelation.     "  Gold, 


58  THE   STAR   IN    THE    EAST. 

and  frankincense,  and  myrrh,"  —  these,  and  ten  times 
these,  were  poor  and  cheap  to  give  for  that  blessed 
certainty  that  the  star  of  God  is  on  before  us. 
Two  practical  hints,  in  conclusion. 

1.  A  hint  of  immortality.  That  star  is  now  looking 
down  on  the  wise  men's  graves ;  and  if  there  be  no 
life  to  come,  then  this  is  the  confusion  :  that  mass 
of  inert  matter  is  pursuing  its  way  through  space, 
and  the  minds  that  watched  it,  calculated  its  move- 
ments, were  led  by  it  through  aspiring  wishes  to  holy 
adorations,  —  those  minds,  more  precious  than  a 
thousand  stars,  have  dropped  out  of  God's  universe. 
And  then  God  cares  for  mere  material  masses  more 
than  for  spirits,  which  are  the  emanation  and  copy  of 
Himself  Impossible.  "  God  is  not  the  God  of  the 
dead,  but  of  the  living."  God  is  the  Father  of  our 
Spirits.  Eternity  and  immeasurableness  belong  to 
thought  alone.  You  may  measure  the  cycles  of  that 
star  by  years  and  miles.  Can  you  bring  any  measure- 
ment which  belongs  to  time  or  space  by  which  you 
can  compute  the  length  or  breadth  or  the  duration 
of  one  pure  thought,  one  aspiration,  one  moment  of 
love  ?  This  is  eternity.  Nothing  but  thought  can  be 
immortal. 

2.  Learn,  finally,  the  truth  of  the  Epiphany  by 
heart.  To  the  Jew  it  chiefly  meant  that  the  Gentile, 
too,  could  become  the  child  of  God.  But  to  us?  — 
Is  that  doctrine  obsolete  ?  Nay,  it  requires  to  be 
reiterated  in  this  age  as  much  as  in  any  other.  There 
is  a  spirit  in  all  our  hearts  whereby  we  would  monop- 
olize God,  conceiving  Him  an  unapproachable  Being, — 
whereby  we  may  terrify  other  men  outside  our  own 
pale,  —  instead  of  the  Father  that  is  near  to  all,  whom 


THE   STAR    IN   THE    EAST.  59 

we  have  to  approach,  and  whom  to  adore  is  blessed* 
ness. 

This  is  our  Judaism :  we  do  not  believe  in  the 
Epiphany.  "We  do  not  believe  that  God  is  the  Father 
of  the  world  ;  we  do  not  actually  credit  that  He  has  a 
star  for  the  Persian  priest,  and  celestial  melody  for  the 
Hebrew  shepherd,  and  an  unsyllabled  voice  for  all  tlie 
humble  and  inquiring  spirits  in  His  world.  Therefore 
remember,  Christ  has  broken  down  the  middle  wall 
of  partition ;  He  has  revealed  Our  Father,  proclaimed 
that  there  is  no  distinction  in  the  spiritual  family  and 
established  a  real  Brotherhood  on  earth. 


III. 

[Preached  February  10, 1850.] 

THE    HEALING    OF    JAIRUS'    DAUGHTER. 

Matt.  ix.  23-25.  —  "  And  when  Jesus  came  into  the  ruler's  house,  and 
saw  the  minstrels  and  the  people  making  a  noise,  he  said  unto  them. 
Give  place  ;  for  the  maid  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth.  And  they  laughed 
him  to  scorn.  But  when  the  people  were  put  forth,  he  went  in,  and 
took  her  by  the  hand,  and  the  maid  arose." 

This  is  one  of  a  pair  of  miracles,  the  full  instruction 
from  neither  of  which  can  be  gained  unless  taken  in 
connection  with  the  other. 

On  His  way  to  heal  the  daughter  of  Jairus,  the  Son 
of  Man  was  accosted  by  another  sufferer,  alHicted 
twelve  years  with  an  issue  of  blood.  Humanly  speak- 
ing, there  were  many  causes  which  might  have  led  to 
the  rejection  of  her  request.  The  case  was  urgent ;  a 
matter  of  life  and  death ;  delay  might  be  fatal ;  a  few 
minutes  might  make  all  the  difference  between  living 
and  dying.  Yet  Jesus  not  only  performed  the  mir- 
acle, but  refused  to  perform  it  in  a  hurried  way; 
paused  to  converse ;  to  inquire  who  had  touched  him ; 
to  perfect  the  lesson  of  the  whole.  On  His  way  to 
perform  one  act  of  Love,  He  turned  aside  to  give  His 

attention  to  another. 

(60) 


THE   HEAL  TNG   OF   JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER.  61 

The  practical  lesson  is  this :  There  are  many  who 
are  so  occupied  by  one  set  of  duties  as  to  have  no 
time  for  others :  some  whose  life-business  is  the  sup- 
pression of  the  slave-trade,  —  the  amelioration  of  the 
state  of  prisons, — the  reformation  of  public  abuses. 
Right,  except  so  far  as  they  are  monopolized  by  these, 
and  feel  themselves  discharged  from  other  obligations. 
The  minister's  work  is  spiritual ;  the  physician's,  tem- 
poral. But,  if  the  formef  neglect  physical  needs,  or 
the  latter  shrink  from  spiritual  opportunities  on  the 
plea  that  the  cure  of  bodies,  not  of  souls,  is  his  work, 
80  far  they  refuse  to  imitate  their  Master. 

He  had  an  ear  open  for  every  tone  of  wail ;  a  heart 
ready  to  respond  to  every  species  of  need.  Specially 
the  Redeemer  of  the  soul.  He  was  yet  as  emphatically 
the  "Saviour  of  the  body."  He  "taught  the  people;" 
but  He  did  not  neglect  to  multiply  the  loaves  and 
fishes.  The  peculiar  need  of  the  woman,  the  father's 
cry  of  anguish,  the  infant's  cry  of  helplessness,  the 
wail  of  oppression,  and  the  shriek  of  pain,  —  all  were 
heard  by  Him,  and  none  in  vain. 

Therein  lies  the  diiference  between  Christian  love 
and  the  impujse  of  mere  inclinations.  We  hear  of  men 
being  "  interested  "  in  a  cause ;  it  has  some  peculiar 
charm  for  them  individually:  the  wants  of  the  heathen, 
or  the  destitution  of  the  soldier  and  sailor,  or  the  con- 
version of  the  Jews,  according  to  men's  associations,  or 
fancies,  or  peculiar  bias,  may  engage  their  attention,  and 
monopolize  their  sympathy.  I  am  far  from  saying  these 
are  wrong:  I  only  say,  that  so  far  as  they  only  interest ^ 
and  monopolize  interest,  the  source  from  which  they 
spring  is  only  human,  and  not  the  highest.  The  differ- 
ence   between   such   beneficence   and    that   which   is 


62  THE   HEALING   OF   JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER. 

the  result  of  Christian  love  is  marked  by  partiality  in 
one  case,  universality  in  the  other  Love  is  universal. 
It  is  interested  in  all  that  is  human :  not  merely  in  the 
concerns  of  its  own  family,  nation,  sect,  or  circle  of 
associations.     Humanity  is  the  sphere  of  its  activity. 

Here,  too,  we  find  the  Son  of  Man  the  pattern  of  our 
humanity.  His  bosom  was  to  mankind  what  the  Ocean 
is  to  the  world.  The  Ocean  has  its  own  mighty  tide  ; 
but  it  receives  and  responds  to,  in  exact  proportion, 
the  tidal  influences  of  every  estuary,  and  river,  and 
small  creek,  which  pours  into  its  bosom.  So  in  Christ: 
His  bosom  heaved  with  the  tides  of  our  humanity ; 
but  every  separate  sorrow,  pain,  and  joy,  gave  its  pul- 
sation, and  received  back  influence  from  the  sea  of  His 
being. 

Looking  at  this  matter  somewhat  more  closely,  it 
will  be  plain  that  the  delay  was  only  apparent. 
Seemingly  there  was  delay,  and  fatal  delay :  while  he 
yet  spake,  there  came  news  of  the  child's  death.  But 
just  so  far  as  the  resurrection  of  the  dead  is  a  mightier 
miracle  than  the  healing  of  the  sick,  just  so  far  did  the 
delay  enhance  and  illustrate,  instead  of  dimming,  the 
glory  of  His  mission. 

But  more  definitely  still.  The  miracles  of  Jesus 
were  not  merely  arbitrary  acts ;  they  were  subject  to 
the  laws  of  the  spiritual  world.  It  was,  we  may  hum- 
bly say,  impossible  to  convey  a  spiritual  blessing  to 
one  who  was  not  spiritually  susceptible.  A  certain 
inward  character,  a  certain  relation  {rapport)  to  the 
Kedeemer,  was  required  to  make  the  mercy  efficacious. 
Hence  in  one  place  we  read,  "  He  could  not  do  many 
miracles  there  because  of  their  unbelief"     And  His 


THE   HEALING    OF   JAIRUS'    DAUGHTER.  ()S 

perpetual  question  was,  "Believest  thou  that  I  am  able 
to  do  this  ?  " 

Now,  Jairus  beheld  this  miracle.  He  saw  the 
woman's  modest  touch  approaching  the  hem  of  the. 
Saviour's  garment.  He  saw  the  abashed  look  with 
which  she  shrunk  from  public  gaze  and  exposure.  He 
heard  the  language  of  Omniscience  —  "Somebody  hath 
touched  me."  He  heard  the  great  principle  enunciated 
that  the  only  touch  which  reaches  God  is  that  of  Faith. 
The  multitude  may  throng  and  press  :  but  heart  to 
heart,  soul  to  soul,  mind  to  mind,  only  so  do  we  come 
in  actual  contact  with  God.  And,  remembering  this,  it 
is  a  matter  not  of  probability,  but  of  certainty,  that 
the  soul  of  Jairus  was  actually  made  more  capable  of 
a  blessing  than  before  ;  that  he  must  have  walked  with 
a  more  hopeful  step ;  that  he  must  have  heard  the 
announcement,  "  Thy  daughter  is  dead,"  with  less 
dismay ;  that  the  words,  "  Fear  not,  only  believe," 
must  have  come  to  him  with  deeper  meaning,  and 
been  received  with  more  implicit  trust,  than  if  Jesus 
had  not  paused  to  heal  the  woman,  but  hurried  on. 

And  this  is  the  principle  of  the  spiritual  kingdom. 
In  matters  worldly,  the  more  occupations,  duties,  a 
man  has,  the  more  certain  is  he  of  doing  all  imper- 
fectly. In  the  things  of  God,  it  is  reversed.  The 
more  duties  you  perform,  the  more  you  are  fitted  for 
doing  others :  what  you  lose  in  time,  you  gain  in 
strength.  You  do  not  love  God  the  less,  but  the  more, 
for  loving  man.  You  do  not  weaken  your  affection 
for  your  family  by  cultivating  attachments  beyond  its 
pale,  but  deepen  and  intensify  it.  Respect  for  the 
alien,  tenderness  for  the  heretic,  do  not  interfere  with, 
but  rather  strengthen,  attachment  to  your  own  country 


64  THE   HEALING    OF   JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER. 

and  your  own  church.  He  who  is  most  liberal  in  the 
case  of  a  foreign  famine,  or  a  distant  mission,  will  be 
found  to  have  only  learned  more  liberal  love  towards 
•  the  poor  and  unspiritualized  of  his  own  land  :  so  false 
is  the  querulous  complaint  that  money  is  drained  away 
by  such  calls,  to  the  disadvantage  of  more  near  and 
juster  claims. 

You  do  not  injure  one  cause  of  mercy  by  turning 
aside  to  listen  to  the  call  of  another. 

I.  The  uses  of  Adversity. 

II.  The  principles  of  a  Miracle. 

I.  The  simplest  and  obvious  use  of  sorrow  is  to 
remind  of  God.  Jairus  and  the  woman,  like  many 
others,  came  to  Christ  from  a  sense  of  want.  It  would 
seem  that  a  certain  shock  is  needed  to  bring  us  in  con- 
tact with  reality.  We  are  not  conscious  of  our 
breathing  till  obstruction  makes  it  felt.  We  are  not 
aware  of  the  possession  of  a  heart  till  some  disease, 
some  sudden  joy  or  sorrow,  rouses  it  into  extraordi- 
nary action.  And  we  are  not  conscious  of  the  mighty 
cravings  of  our  half  Divine  humanity,  we  are  not 
aware  of  the  God  within  us,  till  some  chasm  yawns 
which  must  be  filled,  or  till  the  rending  asunder  of 
our  affections  forces  us  to  become  fearfully  conscious 
of  a  need. 

And  this,  too,  is  the  reply  to  a  rebellious  question 
which  our  hearts  are  putting  perpetually  :  Why  am  I 
treated  so  ?  Why  is  my  health  or  my  child  taken 
from  me  ?  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  ?  So 
Job  passionately  complained  that  God  had  set  him  up 
as  a  mark  to  empty  His  quiver  on. 


THE  HEALING   OP  JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER.  65 

The  reply  is,  that  gifts  are  granted  to  elicit  ouf 
aflFections  :  they  are  resumed  to  elicit  them  still  more  ; 
for  we  never  know  the  value  of  a  blessing  till  it  ia 
gone.  Health,  children,  —  we  must  lose  them  before 
we  know  the  love  wliich  they  contain. 

However,  we  are  not  prepared  to  say  that  a  charge 
might  not,  with  some  plausibility,  be  brought  against 
the  love  of  God,  were  no  intimation  ever  given  that 
God  means  to  resume  His  blessings.  That  man  may 
fairly  complain  of  his  adopted  father,  who  has  been 
educated  as  his  own  son,  and,  after  contracting  habits 
of  extravagance,  looking  forward  to  a  certain  line  of 
life,  cultivating  certain  tastes,  is  informed  that  he  is 
only  adopted ;  that  he  must  part  with  these  temporary 
advantages,  and  sink  into  a  lower  sphere.  It  would  be 
a  poor  excuse  to  say  that  all  he  had  before  him  was  so 
much  gain,  unmerited.  It  is  enough  to  reply  that 
false  hopes  were  raised,  and  knowingly. 

Nay,  the  laws  of  countries  sanction  this.  After  a 
certain  period  a  title  to  property  cannot  be  interfered 
with :  if  a  right  of  way  or  road  has  existed,  in  the 
venerable  language  of  the  law,  after  a  custom  "  where- 
of the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary," 
no  private  right,  however  dignified,  can  overthrow 
the  public  claim.  I  do  not  say  that  a  bitter  feeling 
might  not  have  some  show  of  justice,  if  such  were  the 
case  with  God's  blessings. 

But  the  truth  is  this :  God  confers  His  gifts  with 
distinct  reminders  that  they  are  His.  He  gives  us  for 
a  season  spirits  taken  out  of  His  universe ;  brings 
them  into  temporary  contact  with  us ;  and  we  caU 
them  father,  mother,  sister,  child,  friend.  But,  just  as 
in  some  places,  on  one  day  in  the  year,  the  way  or 
6* 


66  THE  HEALING    OF  JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER. 

path  is  closed  iu  order  to  remind  the  public  that  they 
pass  by  sufferance,  and  not  by  right,  in  order  that  no 
lapse  of  time  may  establish  "  adverse  possession,"  so 
does  God  give  warning  to  us.  Every  ache  and  pain, 
every  wrinkle  you  see  stamping  itself  on  a  parent's 
blow,  every  accident  which  reveals  the  uncertain 
tenure  of  life  and  possessions,  every  funeral  beU  that 
tolls,  are  only  God's  reminders  that  we  are  tenants 
at  will,  and  not  by  right,  —  pensioners  on  the  bounty 
of  an  hour.  He  is  closing  up  the  right  of  way,  warn- 
ing fairly  that  what  we  have  is  lent,  not  given  :  His, 
not  ours.  His  mercies  are  so  much  gain.  The  re- 
sumption of  them  is  no  injustice.  Job  learned  that, 
too,  by  heart.  ''  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

Again,  observe  the  misuse  of  sorrow.  When  He 
came  to  the  house.  He  found  the  minstrels  and  peo- 
ple making  a  noise.  In  the  East,  not  content  with 
natural  grief,  they  use  artificial  means  to  deepen  and 
prolong  it.  Men  and  women  make  it  a  separate  pro- 
fession to  act  as  mourners, —  to  exhibit  for  hire  the  cus- 
tomary symbols  and  wail  of  grief,  partly  to  soothe,  and 
partly  to  rivet  sorrow  deeply,  by  expression  of  it. 

The  South  and  North  differ  greatly  from  each  other 
in  this  respect.  The  nations  of  the  North  restrain 
their  grief,  —  affect  the  tearless  eye  and  the  stern  look. 
The  expressive  South,  and  all  the  nations  whose  origin 
is  from  thence,  are  demonstrative  in  grief  They  beat 
their  breasts,  tear  their  hair,  throw  dust  upon  their 
heads.  It  would  be  unwise  were  either  to  blame  or 
ridicule  the  other,  so  long  as  each  is  true  to  Nature. 
Unwise  for  the  nations  of  the  South  to  deny  the  reaL 
iiy  of  the  grief  which  is  repressed  and  silent.     Unjust 


THE  HEALING   OF  JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER.  67 

in  the  denizen  of  the  North,  were  he  to  scorn  the 
violence  of  Southern  grief,  or  call  its  uncontrollable 
demonstrations  unmanly.  Much  must  be  allowed  for 
temperament. 

These  two  opposite  tendencies,  however,  indicate 
the  two  extremes  into  which  men  may  fall  in  this  mat- 
ter of  sorrow.  There  are  two  ways  in  which  we  may 
defeat  the  purposes  of  God  in  grief —  by  forgetting  it, 
or  by  over-indulging  it. 

The  world's  way  is  to  forget.  It  prescribes  gayety 
as  the  remedy  for  woe ;  banishes  all  objects  which 
recall  the  past ;  makes  it  the  etiquette  of  feeling,  even 
amongst  near  relations,  to  abstain  from  the  mention  of 
the  names  of  the  lost ;  gets  rid  of  the  mourning  weeds 
as  soon  as  possible  —  the  worst  of  all  remedies  for 
grief.  Sorrow,  the  discipline  of  the  Cross,  is  the 
school  for  all  that  is  highest  in  us.  Self-knowledge, 
true  power,  all  that  dignifies  humanity,  are  precluded, 
the  moment  you  try  to  merely  banish  grief.  It  is  a 
touching  truth  that  the  Saviour  refused  the  anodyne 
on  the  cross  that  would  have  deadened  pain.  He 
would  not  steep  His  senses  in  oblivion.  He  would 
not  suffer  one  drop  to  trickle  down  the  side  of  Hia 
Father's  cup  of  anguish  untasted. 

The  other  way  is  to  nurse  sorrow :  nay,  even  our 
best  affections  may  tempt  us  to  this.  It  seems  treason 
to  those  we  have  loved  to  be  happy  now.  We  sit  be- 
neath the  cypress ;  we  school  ourselves  to  gloom. 
Romance  magnifies  the  fidelity  of  the  broken  heart; 
we  refuse  to  be  comforted. 

Now,  aU  this  must  be  dohe  by  effort,  generally 
speaking.  For  God  has  so  constituted  both  our  hearts 
and  the  world  that  it  is  hard  to  prolong  grief  beyond 


68  THE  HEALING   OP  JAIRUS-    DAtTGHTER. 

a  time.  Say  what  we  will,  the  heart  has  in  it  a  sur- 
prising, nay,  a  startling  elasticity.  It  cannot  sustain 
unalterable  melancholy :  and  beside  our  very  pathway 
plants  grow,  healing  and  full  of  balm.  It  is  a  suUen 
heart  that  can  withstand  the  slow  but  sure  influences 
of  the  morning  sun,  the  summer  day,  the  sky  and 
flowers,  and  the  soothing  power  of  himian  sym- 
pathy. 

"We  are  meant  to  sorrow ;  but  "  not  as  those  without 
hope."  The  rule  seems  to  consist  in  being  simply 
natural.  The  great  thing  which  Christ  did  was  to  call 
men  back  to  simplicity  and  nature ;  not  to  perverted, 
but  original  nature.  He  counted  it  no  derogation  of 
His  manhood  to  be  seen  to  weep.  He  thought  it  no 
shame  to  mingle  with  merry  crowds.  He  opened  His 
heart  wide  to  all  the  genial  and  aU  the  mournful  im- 
pressions of  this  manifold  life  of  ours.  And  this  is 
what  we  have  to  do  :  be  natural.  Let  God — that  is,  let 
the  influences  of  God — freely  play  unthwarted  upon 
the  soul.  Let  there  be  no  unnatural  repression,  no 
control  of  feeling  by  mere  efibrt.  Let  there  be  no 
artificial  and  prolonged  grief,  no  "  minstrels  making  a 
noise."  Let  great  Nature  have  her  way.  Or,  rather, 
feel  that  you  are  in  a  Father's  world,  and  live  in  it 
with  Him,  frankly,  in  a  free,  fearless,  childlike,  and 
natural  spirit.  Then  grief  will  do  its  work  healthily. 
The  heart  will  bleed,  and  stanch  when  it  has  bled 
enough.  Do  not  stop  the  bleeding ;  but  also  do  not 
open  the  wound  afresh. 

n.  We  come  to  the '  principles  on  which  a  Miracle 
rests. 

1.  I  observe  that  the  perception  of  it  was  confined 


THE   HEALING   OF  JAIEUS'   DAUGHTER.  69 

to  a  few.  Peter,  James,  John,  and  the  parents  of  the 
child,  were  the  only  ones  present.  The  rest  were 
excluded.  To  behold  wonders,  certain  inward  quali 
fications,  a  certain  state  of  heart,  a  certain  siiscep- 
tivity,  are  reqilired.  Those  who  were  shut  out  were 
rendered  incapable  by  disqualifications.  Absence  of 
spiritual  susceptibility  in  the  case  of  those  who 
"laughed  Him  to  scorn,"  —  unbehef  in  those  who 
came  with  courteous  scepticism,  saying,  "  Trouble  not 
the  Master ; "  in  other  words,  He  is  not  master  of  im- 
possibilities, —  unreality  in  the  professional  mourners, 
the  most  hopeless  of  aU  disqualifications.  Their  whole 
life  was  acting :  they  had  caught  the  tone  of  condo- 
lence and  sympathy  as  a  trick.  Before  minds  such  as 
these  the  wonders  of  creation  may  be  spread  in  vain. 
Grief  and  joy  alike  are  powerless  to  break  through 
the  crust  of  artificial  semblance  which  envelops  them. 
Such  beings  see  no  miracles.  They  gaze  on  all  with 
dead,  dim  eyes,  —  wrapped  in  conventionalisms,  their 
life  a  drama  in  which  they  are  but  actors,  modulating 
their  tones  and  simulating  feelings  according  to  a 
received  standard.  How  can  such  be  ever  witnesses 
of  the  supernatural,  or  enter  into  the  presence  of  the 
Wonderful  ?  Two  classes  alone  were  admitted.  They 
who,  like  Peter,  James,  and  John,  lived  the  life  of 
courage,  moral  purity,  and  love ;  and  they  who,  like 
the  parents,  had  had  the  film  removed  from  their  eyes 
by  grief.  For  there  is  a  way  which  God  has  of  forcing 
the  spiritual  upon  men's  attention.  When  you  shut 
down  the  lid  upon  the  coffin  of  a  child,  or  one  as  dearly 
loved,  there  is  an  awful  want,  a  horrible  sense  of  inse- 
curity, which  sweeps  away  the  ghttering  mist  of  time 
from  the  edge  of  the  abyss,  and  you  gaze  on  the  phan- 


70  THE  HEALING  OP  JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER 

tom-wonders  of  the  unseen.  Yes,  —  real  anguish  qual. 
ifies  for  an  entrance  into  the  solemn  chamber  where 
aU  is  miracle. 

In  another  way,  and  for  another  reason,  the  num- 
bers of  those  who  witness  a  miracle  must  be  limited, 
Jairus  had  his  daughter  restored  to  life :  the  woman 
was  miraculously  healed.  But,  if  every  anxious  parent 
and  every  sick  suiferer  could  have  the  wonder  repeated 
in  his  or  her  case,  the  wonder  itself  would  cease. 
This  is  the  preposterousness  of  the  sceptic's  demand. 
Let  me  see  a  miracle,  on  an  appointed  day  and  hour, 
and  I  will  believe.     Let  us  examine  this. 

A  miracle  is  commonly  defined  to  be  a  contraven- 
tion of  the  laws  of  nature.  More  properly  speaking, 
it  is  only  a  higher  operation  of  those  same  laws,  in  a 
form  hitherto  unseen.  A  miracle  is  perhaps  no  more 
a  suspension  or  contradiction  of  the  laws  of  nature 
than  a  hurricane  or  a  thunder-storm.  They  who  first 
travelled  to  tropical  latitudes  came  back  with  anec- 
dotes of  supernatural  convulsions  of  the  elements.  In 
truth,  it  was  only  that  they  had  never  personally  wit- 
nessed such  effects :  but  the  hurricane  which  swept  the 
waves  flat,  and  the  lightning  which  illuminated  all  the 
heaven  or  played  upon  the  bayonets  or  masts  in  lam- 
bent flame,  were  but  efiects  of  the  very  same  laws  of 
electricity  and  meteorology  which  were  in  operation  at 
home.  A  miracle  is  perhaps  no  more  in  contravention 
of  the  laws  of  the  universe  than  the  direct  interposi- 
tion of  a  whole  nation,  in  cases  of  emergency,  to  up- 
hold what  is  right  in  opposition  to  what  is  established, 
is  an  opposition  to  the  laws  of  the  realm.  For  in 
stance,  the  whole  people  of  Israel  reversed  the  unjust 
decree  of  Saul  which  had  sentenced  Jonathan  to  death. 


THE  HEALING   OP   JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER.  71 

But  law  is  the  expression  only  of  a  people's  will.  Or- 
dinarily wo  see  that  expression  mediately  made  through 
judges,  office-bearers,  kings :  and  so  long  as  we  see  it 
in  this  mediate  form,  we  are,  by  habit,  satisfied  that  all 
is  legal.  There  are  cases,  however,  in  which  not  an 
indirect,  but  a  direct  expression  of  a  nation's  will,  is 
demanded.  Extraordinary  cases ;  and,  because  extraor- 
dinary, they  who  can  only, see  what  is  legal  in  what  is 
customary,  conventional,  and  in  the  routine  of  written 
precedents,  get  bewildered,  and  reckon  the  anomalous 
act  illegal  or  rebellious.  In  reality,  it  is  only  the 
source  of  earthly  law,  the  nation,  pronouncing  the  law 
without  the  intervention  of  the  subordinate  agents. 

This  will  help  us  to  understand  the  nature  of  a  mir- 
acle. What  we  call  laws  are  simply  the  subordinate 
expression  of  a  Will.  There  must  be  a  Will  before 
there  can  be  a  law.  Certain  antecedents  are  followed 
by  certain  consequents.  When  we  see  this  succession, 
we  are  satisfied,  and  call  it  natural.  But  there  are 
emergencies  in  which  it  may  be  necessary  for  the  Will 
to  assert  itself,  and  become  not  the  mediate,  but  the 
immediate  antecedent  to  the  consequent.  No  subor- 
dinate agent  interposes, —  simply  the  First  cause  comes 
in  contact  with  a  result.  The  audible  expression  of 
will  is  followed  immediately  by  something  which  is 
generally  preceded  by  some  lower  antecedent,  which 
we  call  a  cause.  In  this  case,  you  will  observe,  there 
has  been  no  contravention  of  the  laws  of  Nature,  — 
there  has  only  been  an  immediate  connection  between 
the  First  cause  and  the  last  result.  A  miracle  is  the 
manifestation  to  man  of  the  voluntariness  of  Power. 

Now,  bearing  this  in  mind,  let  it  bo  supposed  that 
every  one  had  a  right  to  demand  a  miracle ;  that  the 


72  THE   HEALING   OF  JAIEUS'   DAUGHTER. 

occurrence  of  miracles  was  unlimited ;  that  as  often 
as  you  had  an  ache,  or  trembled  for  the  loss  of  a  relar 
tion,  you  had  but  to  pray,  and  receive  your  wish. 

Clearly,  in  this  case,  first  of  all,  the  constitution  of 
the  universe  would  be  reversed.  The  wiU  of  man 
would  be  substituted  for  the  will  of  God.  Caprice 
and  chance  would  regulate  all:  —  God  would  be  de- 
throned :  God  would  be  degraded  to  the  rank  of  one 
of  those  beings  of  supernatural  power  with  whom 
Eastern  romance  abounds,  who  are  subordinated  by  a 
spell  to  the  will  of  a  mortal,  who  is  armed  with  their 
powers  and  uses  them  as  vassals:  God  would  be 
merely  the  genius  who  would  be  chained  by  the  spell 
of  prayer  to  obey  the  behests  of  man.  Man  would 
arm  himself  with  the  powers  of  Deity,  and  God  would 
be  his  slave. 

Further  still:  This  unlimited  extension  of  miracles 
would  annihilate  miracles  themselves.  For,  suppose 
that  miracles  were  universal ;  that  prayer  was  directly 
followed  by  a  reply ;  that  we  could  all  heal  the  sick 
and  raise  the  dead :  this,  then,  would  become  the  com- 
mon order  of  things.  It  would  be  what  we  now  call 
nature.  It  would  cease  to  be  extraordinary,  and  the 
infidel  would  be  unsatisfied  as  ever.  He  would  see 
only  the  antecedent,  prayer,  and  the  invariable  conse- 
quent, a  reply  to  prayer — exactly  what  he  sees  now 
in  the  process  of  causation.  And  then,  just  as  now 
he  would  say,  What  more  do  we  want  ?  These  are 
the  laws  of  the  universe :  why  interpose  the  complex 
and  cumbrous  machinery  of  a  God,  the  awkward  hy- 
pothesis of  a  will,  to  account  for  laws  ? 

Miracles,  then,  are  necessarily  limited.  The  non- 
limitation  of  miracles  would  annihilate  the  miraculous 


THE   HEALING   OF   JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER.  73 

Lastly,  It  is  the  intention  of  a  miracle  to  manifest 
the  Divine  in  the  common  and  ordinary. 

For  instance,  in  a  boat  on  the  Sea  of  Tiberias,  the 
Redeemer  rose  and  rebuked  the  storm.  Was  that 
miracle  merely  a  proof  of  his  Divine  mission  ?  Are 
we  merely  to  gather  from  it  that  then  .and  there, 
on  a  certain  day,  in  a  certain  obscure  corner  of  the 
world.  Divine  power  was  at  work.  It  is  conceiv- 
able that  a  man  might  credit  that  miracle ;  that  he 
might  be  exceedingly  indignant  with  the  rationalist 
who  resolves  it  into  a  natural  phenomenon,  —  and 
it  is  conceivable  that  that  very  man  might  trem- 
ble in  a  storm.  To  what  purpose  is  that  miracle 
announced  to  him?  He  believes  in  "'God  existing 
in  the  past,  ^ut  not  in  the  present ;  he  believes  in 
a  Divine  presence  in  the  supernatural,  but  discredits 
it  in  the  natural.  He  recognizes  God  in  the  mar- 
vellous, but  does  not  feel  Him  in  the  wonderful  of 
every  day :  unless  it  has  taught  him  that  the  waves 
and  winds  now  are  in  the  hollow  of  the  hand  of  God, 
the  miracle  has  lost  its  meaning. 

Here  again,  as  in  many  other  cases,  Christ  healed 
sickness  and  raised  the  dead  to  life.  Are  we  merely 
to  insert  this  among  the  "  Evidences  of  Christian- 
ity," and  then,  with  lawyer-like  sagacity,  harving  laid 
down  the  rules  of  Evidence,  say  to  the  infidel,  "  Be- 
hold our  credentials  ;  we  call  upon  you  to  believe 
our  Christianity "  ?  This  were  a  poor  reason  to 
acount  for  the  putting  forth  of  Almighty  Power. 
More  truly  and  more  deeply,  these  miracles  were  vivid 
manifestations  to  the  senses  that  Christ  is  the  Sav- 
iour of  the  body  ;  that  now,  as  then,  the  issues  of 
life  and  death  are  in  His  hands ;  that  our  daily  exist- 
7 


74  THE  HEALING   OF   JAIRUS'   DAUGHTER. 

ence  is  a  perpetual  miracle.  The  extraordinary  was 
simply  a  manifestation  of  God's  power  in  the  ordi- 
nary. Nay,  the  ordinary  marvels  are  greater  than 
the  extraordinary ;  for  these  are  subordinate  to  them 
—  merely  indications  and  handmaids,  guiding  us  to  per- 
ceive and  recognize  a  constant  Presence,  and  remind- 
ing us  that  in  every-day  existence  the  miraculous  and 
the  Godlike  rule  as. 


[Preached  March  10,  1850.] 
BAPTISM. 

Gal.  iii.  26-29.  —  "  For  ye  are  all  the  children  of  God  by  faith  in  Chnst 
Jesus.  For  as  many  of  you  as  have  been  baptized  into  Christ  have 
put  on  Christ.  There  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  there  is  neither  bond 
nor  free,  there  is  neither  male  nor  female  :  for  ye  are  all  one  in  Christ 
Jesus.  And  if  ye  be  Christ's,  then  are  ye  Abraham's  seed,  and  heirs 
according  to  the  promise." 

Wherever  opposite  views  are  held  with  warmth 
by  religious-minded  men,  we  may  take  for  granted  that 
there  is  some  higher  truth  which  embraces  both.  All 
high  truth  is  the  union  of  two  contradictories.  Thus 
predestination  and  free  will  are  opposites ;  and  the 
truth  does  not  lie  between  these  two,  but  in  a  higher 
reconciling  truth,  which  leaves  both  true.  So  with  the 
opposing  views  of  baptism.  Men  of  equal  spirituality 
are  ready  to  sacrifice  all  to  assert,  and  to  deny,  the 
doctrine  of  baptismal  regeneration.  And  the  truth,  I 
believe,  will  be  found,  not  in  some  middle,  moderate, 
timid  doctrine,  which  skilfully  avoids  extremes  ;  but  in 
a  truth  larger  than  either  of  these  opposite  views, 
which  is  the  basis  of  both,  and  which  really  is  that  for 
which  each  party  tenaciously  clings  to  its  own  view 
as  to  a  matter  of  life  and  death. 

(76) 


76  BAPTISM. 

The  present  occasion  —  the  decision  of  the  Piivy 
Council  —  only  requires  us  to  examine  three  views. 

I.  That  of  Rome. 

II.  That  of  modern  Calvinism. 

III.  That  of  (as  I  believe)  Scripture  and  the  Church 
of  England. 

I.  The  doctrine  of  Rome  respecting  baptism.  We 
will  take  her  own  authorities. 

1.  "If  any  one   say  that  the  sin  of  Adam 

is  taken  away,  either  by  the  powers  of  human  nature, 
or  by  any  other  remedy  than  the  merit  of  the  One 
Mediator,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  ....  or  denies  that 
the  merit  of  Jesus  Christ,  duly  conferred  by  the  sacra«- 
ment  of  baptism  in  the  church  form,  is  applied  to 
adults  as  well  as  to  children  —  let  him  be  accursed." 
Sess.  V.  4. 

"  If  any  one  deny  that  the  imputation  of  original  sin 
is  remitted  by  the  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  which 
is  conferred  in  baptism,  or  even  asserts  that  the  whole 
of  that  which  has  the  true  and  proper  character  of  sin 
is  not  taken  away,  but  only  not  imputed  —  let  him  be 
accursed." 

"  If  any  one  says  that  grace  is  not  given  by  sacra- 
ments of  this  kind  always  and  to  all,  so  far  as  God's 
part  is  concerned,  but  only  at  times,  and  to  some, 
although  they  be  duly  received  — let  him  be  accursed." 

"  If  any  one  say  that  by  the  sacraments  of  the  New 
Covenant  themselves  grace  is  not  conferred  by  the 
efficacy  of  the  rite  (opus  operatum),  but  that  faith 
alone  is  sufficient  for  obtaining  grace  —  let  him  be 
accursed." 

'  If  any  one   say  that  in  three   sacraments  — that 


BAPTISM.  77 

IS,  baptism,  confirmation,  and  orders  —  a  character  ia 
not  impressed  upon  the  soul  —  that  is,  a  certain  spirit- 
ual and  indelible  mark  (for  which  reason  they  can- 
not be  repeated)  —  let  him  be  accursed."  Sess.  vii,, 
cap.  7-9. 

"  By  baptism,  putting  on  Christ,  we  are  made  a  new 
creation  in  Him,  obtaining  plenary  and  entire  remis- 
sion of  all  sins." 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  misrepresent  the  doctrine 
80  plainly  propounded.  Christ's  merits  are  instru- 
mentally  applied  by  baptism ;  original  sin  is  removed 
by  a  change  of  nature  ;  a  new  character  is  imparted 
to  the  soul ;  a  germinal  principle  or  seed  of  life  is 
miraculously  given ;  and  all  this,  in  virtue  not  of  any 
condition  in  the  recipient,  nor  of  any  condition  except 
that  of  the  due  performance  of  the  rite. 

This  view  is  held  with  varieties,  and  modifications 
of  many  kinds,  by  an  increasingly  large  number  of 
the  members  of  the  Church  of  England ;  but  we  do 
not  concern  ourselves  with  these  timid  modifications, 
which  painfully  attempt  to  draw  some  subtle  hair- 
breadth distinction  between  themselves  and  the  above 
doctrine.  The  true,  honest,  and  only  honest  represent- 
ation of  this  view  is  that  put  forward  undisguisedly  by 
Rome. 

When  it  is  objected  to  the  Romanist  that  there  ia 
no  evidence  in  the  life  of  the  baptized  child  different 
from  that  given  by  the  unbaptized,  sufficient  to  make 
credible  a  change  so  enormous,  he  replies,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  other  sacrament,  —  The  miracle  is  invisi- 
ble. You  cannot  see  the  bread  and  wine  become  flesh 
and  blood  ;  but  the  flesh  and  blood  are  there,  whether 
you  see  them  or  not.  You  cannot  see  the  effects  of 
7* 


78  BAPTISM. 

regeneration  ;  but  they  are  there,  hidden,  whether  visi- 
ble to  you  or  not.  In  other  words,  Christ  has  declared 
that  it  is  with  every  one  born  of  the  Spirit  as  with  the 
wind  —  "  Thou  hear  est  the  sound  thereof. ^^  But  the  Ro- 
manist distinctly  holds  that  you  cannot  hear  the  sound ; 
that  the  wind  hath  blown,  but  there  is  no  sound  ;  that 
the  Spirit  hath  descended,  and  there  are  no  fruits  where- 
by the  tree  is  known.  "* 

In  examining  this  view,  at  the  outset,  we  deprecate 
those  vituperative  and  ferocious  expressions  which 
are  used  so  commonly  against  the  church  of  Rome ;  — 
unbecoming  in  private  conversation,  disgraceful  on 
the  platform,  they  are  still  more  unpardonable  in  the 
pulpit.  I  am  not  advocating  that  feeble  softness  of 
mind  which  cannot  speak  strongly  because  it  cannot 
feel  strongly.  I  know  the  value,  and,  in  their  place, 
the  need  of  strong  words.  I  know  that  the  Redeemer 
used  them:  stronger  and  keener  never  feU  from  the 
lips  of  man.  I  am  aware  that  our  Reformers  used 
coarse  and  vehement  language ;  but  we  do  not  im- 
bibe the  Reformers'  spirit  by  the  mere  adoption  of  the 
Reformers'  language, — nay,  paradoxical  as  it  may  seem, 
the  use  of  their  language  even  proves  a  degeneracy 
from  their  spirit.  You  wiU  find  harsh  and  grosS  ex- 
pressions enough  in  the  Homilies ;  but  remember  that 
when  they  spoke  thus  Rome  was  in  the  ascendency 
She  had  the  power  of  fire  and  sword ;  and  the  men 
who  spoke  so  were  candidates  for  martyrdom,  by  the 
expressions  that  they  used.  Every  one  might  be  called 
upon  by  fire  and  steel  to  prove  the  quahty  of  what  was 
in  him,  and  account  for  the  high  pretensions  of  his 
words.  I  grant  the  grossness.  But  when  they  spoke 
of  the  harlotries  of  Rome,  and  spoke  of  her  adulteries, 


BAPTISM.  I  ft 

and  fornications,  and  lies,  which  she  had  put  in  full 
cup  to  the  lips  of  nations,  it  was  the  sublime  defi- 
ance of  free-hearted  men  against  oppression  in  high 
places,  and  falsehood  dominant.  But  now,  when  Rome 
is  no  longer  dominant,  and  the  only  persecutions  that 
we  hear  of  are  the  petty  persecutions  of  Protestants 
among  themselves,  to  use  language  such  as  this  is  not 
the  spirit  of  a  darfng  Reft^rmer,  but  only  the  pusillan- 
imous shriek  of  cruel  cowardice,  which  ke§ps  down  the 
enemy  whose  rising  it  is  afraid  of. 

We  will  do  justice  to  this  doctrine  of  Rome.  It 
has  this  merit,  at  least,  that  it  recognizes  the  character 
of  a  church ;  it  admits  it  to  be  a  society,  and  not  an 
association.  An  association  is  an  arbitrary  union. 
Men  form  associations  for  temporary  reasons ;  and, 
arbitrarily  made,  they  can  be  arbitrarily  dissolved. 
Society,  on  the  contrary,  is  made  not  by  will,  but  facts. 
Brotherhood,  sonship,  families,  nations,  are  nature's 
work  —  real  facts.  Rome  acknowledges  this.  It  per- 
mits no  arbitrary  drawing  of  the  lines  of  that  which 
caUs  itself  the  church.  A  large,  broad,  mighty  field , 
the  Christian  world  ;  all  baptized  ;  nay,  expressly,  even 
those  who  are  baptized  by  heretics.  It  shares  the  spirit, 
ins'tead  of  monopolizing  it. 

PrgfcticaUy,  therefore,  in  the  matter  of  education,  we 
should  teach  children  on  the  basis  on  M^hich  Rome 
works.  We  say  as  Rome  says,  You  are  the  child  of 
God ;  baptism  declares  you  such.  Rome  says  as  Paul 
says,  "  As  many  of  you  as  are  baptized  into  Christ  have 
put  on  Christ." 

Consequently,  we  distinguish  between  this  doctrine 
as  held  by  spiritual  and  as  held  by  unspiritual  men. 
Spirituality  often  neutralizes  error  in  views.     Men  are 


80  BAPTISM. 

better  often  than  their  creeds.  The  Calvinist  ought 
to  be  an  Antinomian,  —  he  is  not.  So,  in  holj-minded 
men,  this  doctrine  of  baptismal  regeneration  loses  its 
perniciousness,  —  nay,  even  becomes,  in  erroneous 
form,  a  precious,  blessed  truth. 

It  is  quite  another  thing,  however,  held  by  unspirit- 
ual  men.     Our  objections  to  this  doctrine  are : 

1.  Because  it  assumes  baptism  to  be  not  the  testi- 
mony to  a  fact,  but  the  fact  itself.  Baptism  proclaims 
the  child  of  God.  The  Romanist  says  it  creates  him. 
Then  and  there  a  mysterious  change  takes  place,  inward, 
spiritual,  eflfected  by  an  external  rite.  This  makes  bap- 
tism not  a  sacrament,  but  an  event. 

2.  Because  it  is  materialism  of  the  grossest  kind. 
The  order  of  Christian  life  is  from  within  to  that 
which  is  without,  —  from  the  spiritual  truth  to  the 
material  expression  of  it.  The  Roman  order  is  from 
the  outward  to  the  creation  of  the  inward.  This  is 
magic.  The  Jewish  Cabalists  believed  that  the  pro- 
nunciation of  certain  magical  words,  engraved  on  the 
seal  of  Solomon,  would  perform  marvels.  The  whole 
Eastern  world  fancied  that  such  spells  could  transform 
one  being  into  another,  —  a  brute  into  a  man,  or  a  man 
into  a  brute.  Books  containing  such  trash  were  burnt 
at  Ephesus,  in  the  dawn  of  Christianity.  But  here,  in 
the  mid-day  of  Christianity,  we  have  belief  in  such 
spells,  —  given,  it  is  true  that  it  is  said,  by  God,  — 
whereby  the  demoniacal  nature  can  be  exorcised,  the 
Divine  implanted  in  its  stead,  and  the  evil  heart  trans- 
formed unconsciously  into  a  pure  spirit. 

Now,  this  is  degrading  God.  Observe  the  results  • 
A  child  is  to  be  baptized  on  a  given  day ;  but  when 
that  day  arrives,  the  child   is  unwell,  and  the  cere- 


BAPTISM.  §1 

monj  must  be  postponed  another  week  or  month. 
Again  a  delay  takes  plac^, —  the  day  is  damp  or  cold. 
At  last  the  time  arrives ;  the  service  is  read.  It  may 
require,  if  read  slowly,  five  minutes  more  than  ordi- 
narily. Then  and  there,  when  that  reading  is  slowly 
accomplished,  the  mystery  is  achieved.  And  all  this 
time,  while  the  child  is  ill,  while  the  weather  is  bad, 
while  the  reader  procrastiaates, —  I  say  it  solemnly, — ■ 
the  Eternal  Spirit  who  rules  this  universe  must  wait 
patiently,  and  come  down,  obedient  to  a  mortal's  spell, 
at  the  very  second  that  it  suits  his  convenience.  God 
must  wait  attendance  on  the  caprice  of  a  careless 
parent,  ten  thousand  accidents,  —  nay,  the  leisure  of  an 
indolent  or  an  immoral  priest.  Will  you  dare  insult 
the  Majesty  on  High  by  such  a  mockery  as  this 
result  ? 

3.  We  object,  because  this  view  makes  Christian  life 
u  struggle  for  something  that  is  lost,  instead  of  a  prog- 
ress to  something  that  lies  before.  Let  no  one  fancy 
that  Rome's  doctrine  on  this  matter  makes  salvation 
an  easy  thing.  The  spirit  of  God  is  given,  —  the  germ 
is  implanted ;  but  it  may  be  crushed,  injured,  des- 
troyed. And  her  doctrine  is,  that-  venial  sins  after 
baptism  are  removed  by  absolutions  and  attendance  on 
the  ordinances  ;  whereas  for  mortal  sins  there  is  —  not 
no  hope  —  but  no  certainty  ever  after  until  the  judg- 
ment-day. Vicious  men  may  make  light  of  such  teach- 
ing, and  get  periodic  peace  from  absolution,  to  go  and 
sin  again ;  but  to  a  spiritual  Romanist  this  doctrine  is 
no  encouragement  for  laxity.  Now,  observe,  after  sin, 
life  becomes  the  effort  to  get  back  to  where  you  were 
years  ago.  It  is  the  sad,  longing  glance  at  the  Eden 
from  which  you  have  been  expelled,  which  is  guarded 


82  BAPTISM. 

now  by  a  fiery  sword  in  this  world  forever.  And, 
therefore,  whoever  is  familiar  with  the  writings  of 
some  of  the  earliest  leaders  of  the  present  movement 
Rome-wards, — writings  that  rank  among  the  mosttouch- 
ing  and  beautiful  of  English  composition,  —  will  remem- 
ber the  marked  tone  of  sadness  which  pervades  them ; 
their  high,  sad  longings  after  the  baptismal  purity  that 
is  gone ;  their  mournful  contemplations  of  a  soul  that 
once  glistened  with  baptismal  dew,  now  "  seamed  and 
scarred  "  with  the  indelible  marks  of  sin.  The  true 
Christian  life  is  ever  onwards,  full  of  trust  and  hope : 
a  life  wherein  even  past  sin  is  no  bar  to  saintliness, 
but  the  step  by  which  you  ascend  to  higher  vantage- 
ground  of  holiness.  The  "indelible  grace  of  baptism," 
—  how  can  it  teach  that  ? 

II.  The  second  view  is  that  held  by  what  we,  for  the 
sake  of  avoiding  personalities,  call  modern  Calvinism. 
It  draws  a  distinction  between  the  visible  and  the 
invisible  church.  It  holds  that  baptism  admits  all 
into  the  former,  but  into  the  latter  only  a  special  few. 
Baptismal  regeneration,  as  applied  to  the  first,  ia 
merely  a  change  of  state, — though  what  is  meant  by 
a  change  of  state  it  were  hard  to  say,  or  to  determine 
wherein  an  unbaptized  person  admitted  to  all  the 
ordinances  would  differ  in  state  from  a  person  baptized. 
The  real  benefit  of  baptism,  however,  only  belongs  to 
the  elect.  With  respect  to  others,  to  predicate  of 
them  regeneration  in  the  highest  sense,  is  at  best  an 
ecclesiastical  fiction,  said  "in  the  judgment  of  charity." 

This  view  maintains  that  you  are  not  God's  child 
until  you  become  such  consciously.  Not  until  evi- 
dence  of  a  regenerate  life  is  given,  not   until  signs 


BAPTISM.  S^- 

of  a  converted  soul  are  shown,  is  it  right  to  speak  of 
being  God's  child,  except  in  this  judgment  of  charity. 
Now  we  remark, 

1.  This  judgment  of  charity  ends  at  the  baptismal 
font.  It  is  never  heard  of  in  after-life.  It  is  like  the 
charitable  judgment  of  the  English  law,  which  pre- 
sumes, or  is  said  to  presume,  a  man  innocent  till  proved 
guilty :  valuable  enough  s^  a  legal  fiction ;  neverthe- 
less, it  does  not  prevent  a  man  barring  his  windows, 
guarding  his  purse,  keenly  watching  against  the  deal- 
ings of  those  around  him  who  are  presumed  innocent. 
Similarly,  the  so-called  judgment  of  charity  terminates 
with  infancy.  They  who  speak  of  the  church's  lan- 
guage, in  which  children  are  called  children  of  God,  as 
being  quite  right,  but  only  in  the  judgment  of  charity, 
are  exactly  the  persons  who  do  not  in  after-life  chari' 
tably  presume  that  all  their  neighbors  are  Christians. 
"  He  is  not  a  Christian."  — "  She  is  one  of  the  world : " 
or,  "  one  of  the  unregenerate."  Such  is  the  language 
applied  to  those  who  are  in  baptism  reckoned  children 
of  God.  They  could  not  consistently  apply  to  all 
adults  the  language  applied  in  this  text :  "  As  many  of 
you  as  have  been  baptized  into  Christ,  have  put  on 
Christ.  Ye  are  all  the  children  of  God  by  faith  in 
Christ  Jesus." 

2.  Next,  I  observe  that  this  view  is  identical  with 
the  Roman  one  in  this  respect,  that  it  creates  the  fact 
instead  of  testifying  to  it.  Only,  instead  of  baptism,  it 
substitutes  certain  views,  feelings,  and  impressions; 
and  asserts  that  these  make  the  man  into  a  child  of 
God.  The  Romanist  says  Baptism,  the  Calvinist  says 
Faith,  makes  that  true  which  was  not  true  before.  It 
is  not  a  fact  that  God  is  that  person's  Father,  till  in 


84'  BAPTISM. 

the  one  case  baptism,  in  the  other  faith,  have  made 
Him  such. 

3.  Observe  the  pernicious  results  of  this  teaching  in 
the  matter  of  Education.  Here  again  I  draw  the 
distinction  between  the  practical  consequences  which 
legitimately  ought  to  be  and  those  which  actually  are 
deduced  from  it.  Happily,  men  are  better  than  their 
views.  Hear  the  man  speaking  out  of  his  theological 
system,  and  then  hear  him  speaking  out  of  the  abun- 
dance of  his  heart.  Hear  the  religious  mother  when 
the  system  is  in  view,  and  all  are  indiscriminately, 
except  a  certain  few,  corrupt,  vile,  with  nothing  good 
in  them,  heirs  of  ruin.  But  hear  her  talking  unguard- 
edly of  her  own  children.  They  have  the  frailties, 
weaknesses,  common  faults,  of  childhood  ;  but  they 
have  no  vice  in  them ;  there  is  nothing  base  or  de- 
graded in  her  children !  When  the  embraces  of  her 
child  are  round  her  neck,  it  will  require  more  elo- 
quence than  you  possess  to  convince  her  that  she  is 
nursing  a  little  demon  in  her  lap.  The  heart  of  the 
mother  is  more  than  a  match  for  the  creed  of  the  Cal- 
vinist. 

There  are  some,  however,  who  do  not  shrink  from 
consistency,  and  develop  their  doctrine  in  all  its  con- 
sequences. The  children  follow  out  their  instructions 
with  fearful  fidelity.  Taught  that  they  are  not  the 
children  of  God  till  certain  feelings  have  been  devel- 
oped in  them,  they  become  by  degrees  beAvildered,  or 
else  lose  their  footing  on  reality.  They  hear  of  certain 
mystic  joys  and  sorrows ;  and  unless  they  fictitiously 
adopt  the  language  they  hear,  they  are  painfully  con- 
scious that  they  know  nothing  of  them  as  yet.  They 
hear  of  a  depression  for  sin  which  they  certainly  have 


BAPTISM.  8® 

never  experienced,  —  a  joy  in  God,  making  his  service 
and  his  house  the  gate  of  heaven  ;  and  they  know  that 
it  is  excessively  irksome  to  them,  —  a  confidence,  trust, 
and  assurance,  of  which  they  know  nothing,  —  till  they 
take  for  granted  what  has  been  told  them,  that  they 
are  not  God's  children.  Taught  that  they  are  as  yet 
of  the  world,  they  live  as  the  world,  —  they  carry  out 
their  education,  which  ha^ dealt  with  them  as  children 
of  the  devil,  to  be  converted ;  and  children  of  the  devil 
they  become. 

Of  these  two  views,  the  last  is  by  far  the  most  cer- 
tain to  undermine  Christianity  in  every  Protestant 
country.  The  first,  at  least,  assumes  God's  badge  an 
universal  one ;  and  in  education  is  so  far  right,  prac- 
tically ;  only  wrong  in  the  decision  of  the  question 
how  the  child  was  created  a  child  of  God.  But  the 
second  assumes  a  false,  partial,  party  badge, —  election, 
views,  feelings.  No  wonder  that  the  children  of  such 
religionists  proverbially  turn  out  ill. 

III.  We  pass  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible,  and  (I 
believe)  of  the  Church. 

Christ  came  to  reveal  a  name  —  the  Father.  He 
abolished  the  exclusive  "  my,"  and  he  taught  to  pray 
"  our  Father."  He  proclaimed  God  the  Father,  — 
man  the  Son  :  revealed  that  the  Son  of  Man  is  also 
the  Son  of  God.  Man  —  as  man,  God's  child.  He 
came  to  redeem  the  world  from  that  ignorance  of 
the  relationship  which  had  left  them  in  heart  aliens 
and  unregenerate.  Human  nature,  therefore,  became, 
viewed  in  Christ,  a  holy  thing  and  divine.  The  Rev- 
elation is  a  common  humanity,  sanctified  in  God.     The 


85  BAPTISM. 

appearance  of  the  Son  of  God  is  the  sanctification  of 
the  human  race. 

The  development  of  this  startled  men.  Sons  of 
God !  Yes ;  ye  Jews  have  monopolized  it  too  long. 
Is  that  Samaritan,  heretic  and  alien,  a  child  of  God  ? 
Yes,  the  Samaritan ;  but  not  these  outcasts  of  soci- 
ety ?  Yes ;  these  outcasts  of  society.  He  went  into 
the  publican's  house,  and  proclaimed  that  "  he,  too, 
was  a  son  of  Abraham."  He  suffered  the  sinful  pen- 
itent to  flood  his  feet  with  tears.  He  saw  there  the 
Eternal  Light  unquenched,  —  the  eye,  long  dimmed 
and  darkened,  which  yet  still  could  read  the  Eternal 
Mind.  She,  tod,  is  God's  erring,  but  forgiven,  be- 
loved, and  "  much-loving "  child.  One  step  further. 
He  will  not  dare  to  say,  —  the  Gentiles  ?  —  the  Gen- 
tiles who  bow  down  to  stocks  and  stones  ?  Yes,  the 
Gentiles  too.  He  spake  to  them  a  parable.  He  told 
of  a  younger  son  who  had  lived  long  away  from  his 
father's  home.  But  his  forgetfulness  of  his  father 
could  not  abrogate  the  fact  of  his  being  his  son,  and, 
as  soon  as  he  recognized  the  relationship,  all  the  bless- 
ings of  it  were  his  own. 

Now,  this  is  the  Revelation.  Man  is  God's  child, 
and  the  sm  of  the  man  consists  in  perpetually  living 
as  if  it  were  false.  It  is  the  sin  of  the  heathen,  —  and 
what  is  your  mission  to  him  but  to  tell  him  that  he  is 
God's  child,  and  not  living  up  to  his  privilege  ?  It  is 
the  sin  of  the  baptized  Christian,  —  waiting  for  feel- 
ings for  a  claim  on  God.  It  was  the  false  life  which 
the  Jews  had  led :  precisely  this,  that  they  were  living 
coerced  by  law.  Christ  had  come  to  redeem  them 
from  the  law,  that  they  might  recei  fe  the  adoption  of 
Bons.     But  they  were  sons  already,  if  they  only  knew 


BAPTISM.  8T 

-i.  "Because  ye  are  sons,  God  hath  sent' forth  the 
Spirit  of  his  Son  into  your  hearts,  whereby  ye  cry 
Abba,  Father."  To  be  a  son  of  God  is  one  thing ;  to 
know  that  you  are,  and  call  him  Father,  is  another,  — 
and  that  is  regeneration. 

Now,  there  was  wanted  a  permanent  and  authorita- 
tive pledge,  revealing  and  confirming  this  ;  for,  to 
mankind  in  the  mass,  invisible  truths  become  real 
only  when  they  have  been  made  visible.  All  spiritual 
facts  must  have  an  existence  in  form  for  the  human 
mind  to  rest  on.  This  pledge  is  baptism.  Baptism 
is  a  visible  witness  to  the  world  of  that  which  the 
world  is  forever  forgetting,  a  common  humanity 
united  in  God.  Baptism  authoritatively  reveals  and 
pledges  to  the  individual  that  which  is  true  of  the 
race.  Baptism  takes  the  child  and  addresses  it  by 
name.  Paul  —  no  longer  Saul  —  you  are  a  child  of 
God.  Remember  it  henceforth.  It  is  now  revealed 
to  you,  and  recognized  by  you,  and  to  recognize  God 
as  the  Father  is  to  be  regenerate  (John  i.  12).  You, 
Paul,  are  now  regenerate:  you  will  have  foes  to  fight, 
—  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  —  but  remember, 
they  only  keep  you  out  of  an  inheritance  which  is 
your  own  ;  not  an  inheritance  which  you  have  to  win 
by  some  new  feeling  or  merit  in  yourself  It  ts  yours: 
you  are  the  child  of  God ;  you  are  a  member  of 
Christ ;  you  are  an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven. 

Observe,  then,  baptism  does  not  create  a  child  of 
God.  It  authoritatively  declares  him.  It  does  not 
make  the  fact ;  it  only  reveals  it.  If  baptism  made 
it  a  fact,  then  and  there  for  the  first  time,  baptism 
would  be  magic.     Nay,  faith  does  not  create  a  child 


8S  BAPTISM. 

of  God  any  more  than  baptism,  nor  does  it  make  a 
fact.  It  only  appropriates  that  which  is  a  fact  already. 
For  otherwise  see  what  inextricable  confusion  you  fall 
into.  You  ask  a  man  to  believe,  and  thereby  be  created 
a  child  of  God.  Believe  what  ?  That  God  is  his 
Father.  But  God  is  not  his  Father.  He  is  not  a  child 
of  God,  you  say,  till  he  believes.  Then  you  ask  him 
tc  believe  a  lie; 

Herein  lies  the  error,  in  basis  identical,  of  the 
Romanist  and  the  Calvinist.  Faith  is  to  one  what 
baptism  is  to  the  other,  the  creator  of  a  fact ;  whereas 
they  both  rest  upon  a  fact,  which  is  a  fact  whether 
they  exist  or  not,  —  before  they  exist ;  nay,  without 
whose  previous  existence  both  of  them  are  unmeaning 
and  false. 

The  Catechism,  however,  says :  In  baptism  ...  I 
was  made  a  child  of  God.  Yes ;  coronation  makes  a 
sovereign;  but,  paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  it  can 
only  make  a  sovereign  one  who  is  sovereign  already. 
Crown  a  pretender,  that  coronation  will  not  create  the 
king.  Coronation  is  the  authoritative  act  of  the 
nation  declaring  a  fact  which  was  fact  before.  And 
ever  after,  coronation  is  the  event  to  which  all  dates 
back ;  and  the  crown  is  the  expression  used  for  all 
royal  acts :  the  crown  pardons,  the  prerogatives  of  the 
crown,  <fcc. 

Similarly  with  baptism.  Baptism  makes  a  child  of 
God  in  the  sense  in  which  coronation  makes  a  king. 
And  baptism  naturally  stands  in  Scripture  for  the 
title  of  regeneration  and  the  moment  of  it.  Only 
what  coronation  is  in  an  earthly  way,  an  authorita- 
tive manifestation  of  an  invisible  earthly  truth,  baptism 
is  in  a  heavenly  way  —  God's  authoritative  declaration 


BAPTISM.  83 

in  material  form  of  spiritual  reality.  In  other  words, 
no  bare  sign,  but  a  Divine  Sacrament. 

Now  for  the  blessings  of  this  view. 

1.  It  prevents  exclusiveness  and  spiritual  pride,  and 
all  condemnation  and  contempt  of  others ;  for  it 
admits  those  who  have  no  spiritual  capacity  or  cdu- 
eciousness  to  be  God's  children.  It  proclaims  a  king- 
dom, not  for  a  few  favorites,  but  for  mankind.  It  pro- 
tests against  the  idea  that  sonship  depends  on  feelings. 
It  asserts  it  as  a  broad,  grand,  universal,  blessed  fact. 
It  bids  you  pray  with  a  meaning  of  added  majesty  in 
the  words.  Our  Father.  Take  care.  Do  not  say  of 
others  that  they  are  unregenerate  —  of  the  world.  Do 
not  make  a  distinction  within  the  church  of  Christians 
and  not-Christians.  If  you  do,  what  do  you  more  than 
the  Pharisees  of  old?  That  wretched  beggar  that 
holds  his  hat  at  the  crossing  of  the  street  is  God's 
child  as  well  as  you,  if  he  only  knew  it.  You  know 
it,  —  he  does  not ;  that  is  the  difference ;  but  the  im- 
mortal is  in  him  too,  and  the  Eternal  Word  speaks  in 
nim.  That  daughter  of  dissipation  whom  you  despise, 
spending  night  after  night  in  frivolity,  she,  too,  has  a 
Father  in  Heaven.  "  My  Father  and  your  Father,  my 
God  and  your  God."  She  has  forgotten  Him,  and,  like 
the  prodigal,  is  trying  to  live  on  the  husks  of  the 
world,  —  the  empty  husks  which  will  not  satisfy, — 
the  degrading  husks  which  the  swine  did  eat.  But, 
whether  she  will  or  not,  her  baptism  is  valid,  and  pro- 
claims a  fact,  —  which  may  be,  alas  !  the  worse  for  her, 
if  she  will  not  have  it  the  better. 

3.  This  doctrine  protests  against  the  notion  of  our 
being  separate  units  in  the  Divine  life.  The  church 
of  Calvinism  is  merely  a  collection  of  atoms, —  a  sand- 
8* 


90  BAPTISM. 

heap  piled  together,  with  no  cohesion  among  thenir 
selves ;  or,  a  mass  of  steel-fihngs  cleaving  separately 
to  a  magnet,  but  not  to  each  other.  Baptism  pro- 
claims a  church  —  humanity  joined  in  Christ  to  God. 
Do  not  say  that  the  separating  work  of  baptism,  draw- 
ing a  distinction  between  the  church  and  the  world, 
negatives  this.  Do  not  say  that,  because  the  church 
is  separated  from  the  world,  therefore  the  world  are 
not  God's  children.  Eather  that  very  separation 
proves  it.  You  baptize  a  separate  body  in  order  to 
realize  that  which  is  true  of  the  collective  race,  as  in 
this  text — "There  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek."  In  all 
things  it  is  the  same.  If  you  would  sanctify  all  time, 
you  set  apart  a  sabbath,  —  not  to  show  that  other  days 
are  not  intended  to  be  sacred,  but  for  the  very  pur- 
pose of  making  them  sacred.  If  you  would  have  a 
"  nation  of  priests,"  you  set  apart  a  priesthood ;  not 
as  if  the  priestly  functions  of  instruction  and  assisting 
to  approach  God  were  exclusively  in  that  body,  but  in 
order,  by  concentration,  to  bring  out  to  greater  per- 
fection the  priestly  character  which  is  shared  by  the 
whole,  and  then  thereby  make  the  whole  more  truly 
"  priests  to  God  to  offer  spiritual  sacrifices."  In  the 
same  way,  if  God  would  baptize  humanity,  He  baptizes 
a  separate  church,  in  order  that  that  church  may  bap- 
tize the  race.  The  church  is  God's  ideal  of  humanity 
realized. 

Lastly,  this  doctrine  of  baptism  sanctifies  material- 
ism. The  Romanist  was  feeHng  his  way  to  a  great 
fact,  when  he  said  that  there  are  other  things  of  sacra- 
mental  efficacy  besides  these  two  —  baptism  and  the 
Bupper.  The  things  of  earth  are  pledges  and  sacra- 
ments  of  things  in  heaven.     It  is  not  for  nothing  that 


*  BAPTISM.  91 

God  has  selected  for  His  sacrament  the  commonest  of 
all  acts,  —  a  meal,  —  and  the  most  abundant  of  all  ma- 
terials, —  water.  Think  you  that  He  means  to  say  that 
only  through  two  channels  His  spirit  streams  into  the 
soul?  Or  is  it  not  much  more  in  unison  with  his  deal- 
ings to  say,  that  these  two  are  set  apart  to  signify  to 
us  the  sacramental  character  of  all  nature  ? — just  as  a 
miracle  was  intended  not  to  reveal  God  working  there, 
at  that  death-bed  and  in  that  storm,  but  to  call  atten- 
tion to  His  presence  in  every  death  and  every  storm. 
Go  out  at  this  spring  season  of  the  year,  see  the 
mighty  preparations  for  life  that  Nature  is  making, 
feel  the  swelling  sense  of  gratefulness,  and  the  perva- 
sive expanding  consciousness  of  love  for  all  Being, 
and  then  say  whether  this  whole  Form,  which  we  call 
Nature,  is  not  the  great  Sacrament  of  God,  the  revela- 
tion of  His  existence,  and  the  channel  of  His  commu- 
nications to  the  spirit  1 


V. 

[Preached  March  17,  1850.] 
BAPTISM. 

1  Pbtee  iii.  21.  — "The  like  figure  whereunto,  even  baptism,  doth  aiss 
now  save  us." 

Last  Sunday  we  considered  the  subject  of  baptism 
in  reference  to  the  Romish  and  modem  Calvinistic 
views.  The  truth  seemed  to  lie  no't  in  a  middle  course 
between  the  two  extremes,  but  in  a  truth  deeper  than 
either  of  them.  For  there  are  various  modifications 
of  the  Romish  view  which  soften  down  its  repulsive 
features.  There  are  some  who  hold  that  the  guilt  of 
original  sin  is  pardoned,  but  the  tendencies  of  an  evil 
nature  remain.  Others,  who  attribute  a  milder  mean- 
ing to  "  Regeneration,"  understanding  by  it  a  change 
of  state  instead  of  a  change  of  nature.  Others,  who 
acknowledge  a  certain  mysterious  benefit  imparted  by 
baptism,  but  decline  determining  how  much  grace  is 
given,  or  what  the  exact  nature  of  the  blessing  is. 
Others,  who  acknowledge  that  it  is,  in  certain  cases, 
the  moment  when  regeneration  takes  place,  but  hold 
that  it  is  conditional,  occurring  sometimes,  not  always, 
and  following  upon  the  condition  of  what  they  call 
"prevenient  grace."  We  do  not  touch  upon  these 
views.     Thii^y  are  simply  modifications  of  the  Romish 

(92) 


BAPTISM.  2^ 

riew,  and,  as  such,  more  oiFensive  than  the  view  its^; 
for  they  contain  that  which  is' in  it  most  objectionable, 
and  special  evils  of  their  own  besides. 

We  admitted  the  merits  of  the  two  views.  We  are 
grateful  to  the  Romanist  for  the  testimony  which  he 
bears  to  the  truth  of  the  extent  of  Christ's  salvation ; 
for  the  privilege  which  he  gives  of  calling  all  the  bap- 
tized children  of  God  ;  for  the  protest  which  his  doo 
trine  makes  against  all  party  monopoly  of  God;  for 
the  protest  against  ultra-spiritualism,  in  acknowledging 
that  material  things  are  the  types  and  channels  of  the 
Almighty  Presence. 

We  are  grateful  to  the  Calvinist  for  his  strong  pro- 
test against  formalism  ;  for  his  assertion  of  the  neces- 
sity of  an  inward  change  ;  for  the  distinction  which  ho 
has  drawn  between  being  in  the  state  of  sons  and  hav- 
ing the  nature  of  sons  of  God. 

The  error  in  these  two  systems,  contrary  as  they 
are,  appeared  to  us  to  be  identically  one  and  the  same, 
—  that  of  pretending  to  create  a  fact  instead  of  wit- 
nessing to  it.  The  Calvinist  maintains,  that  on  a  cer- 
tain day  and  hour,  under  the  ministry  of  the  Word, 
under  preaching  of  some  one  who  "  proclaims  the 
Gospel,"  he  was  born  again,  and  God  became  hia 
Father ;  and  the  Romanist  declares,  that  on  a  certain 
day,  at  a  certain  moment  by  an  earthly  clock,  by  the 
hands  of  a  priest  apostolically  ordained,  the  evil  nature 
was  expelled  from  him,  and  a  new  fact  in  the  world 
was  created :  he  attained  the  right  of  calling  God  his 
Father. 

Now,  if  baptism  makes  God  our  Father,  baptism  is 
incantation ;  if  faith  makes  him  so,  faith  rests  upon  a 
falsehood. 


94  BAPTISM. 

^or  the  Eomanist  does  no  more  than  the  red  Indian 
and  the  black  negro  pretend  to  do — exorcise  the  devil, 
and  infuse  God.  The  only  question  then  becomes, 
"Which  is  the  true  enchanter,  and  which  is  the  impostor? 
for  the  juggler  does,  by  the  power  of  imagination, 
often  cure  the  sick  man;  but  the  mysterious  effects  of 
baptism  never  are  visible,  and  never  can  be  tested  in 
this  world. 

On  the  other  hand,  faith  would  rest  upon  a  false- 
hood ;  for,  if  faith  is  to  give  the  right  of  calling  God  a 
Father,  how  can  you  believe  that  which  is  not  true  the 
very  moment  before  belief?  God  is  not  your  Father. 
If  you  believe  He  is,  your  belief  is  false. 

The  truth  which  underlies  these  two  views,  on  which 
all  that  is  true  in  them  rests,  and  in  which  all  that  is 
false  is  absorbed,  is  the  Paternity  of  God.  This  is  the 
Revelation  of  the  Redeemer.  This  is  authoritatively 
declared  by  baptism,  appropriated  personally  by  faith  ; 
but  a  truth  independent  both  of  baptism  and  faith, 
which  would  still  be  true  if  there  were  neither  a  bap- 
tism nor  a  faith  in  the  world.  They  are  the  witnesses 
of  the  fact,  not  the  creators  of  it. 

Here,  however,  two  diflficulties  arise.  If  this  be  so, 
do  we  not  make  light  of  original  sin?  And  do  we  not 
reduce  baptism  into  a  superfluous  ceremony  ? 

Before  we  enter  upon  these  questions,  I  must  vindi- 
cate myself  from  the  appearance  of  presumption. 
Where  the  wisest  and  holiest  have  held  opposite 
views,  it  seems  immodest  to  speak  with  unfaltering 
certainty  and  decisive  tone.  Hesitation,  guarded 
statements,  caution,  it  would  seem,  would  be  far  more 
in  place.  Now,  to  speak  decidedly  is  not  necessarily 
to  speak  presumptuously.     There  are  questions  involv- 


BAPTISM.  95 

Jng  great  research,  and  questions  relating  to  trutlig 
beyond  our  ken,  where  guarded  and  uncertain  tones 
are  only  a  duty.  There  are  others,  where  the  decision 
has  become  conviction,  a  kind  of  intuition,  the  result 
of  years  of  thought ;  which  has  been  the  day  to  a 
man's  darkness,  "  the  fountain-light  of  all  his  seeing ;  " 
which  has  interpreted  him  to  himself,  made  all  clear 
where  all  was  perplexed  before,  been  the  key  to  the 
riddle  of  truths  that  seemed*  contradictory,  become 
part  of  his  very  being,  and  for  which,  more  than  once, 
he  has  held  himself  cheerfully  prepared  to  sacrifice  all 
that  is  commonly  held  dear.  With  respect  to  convic- 
tions such  as  these,  of  course,  the  arguments  by  which 
they  are  enforced  may  be  faulty,  the  illustrations  inade- 
quate, the  power  of  making  them  intelligible  very 
feeble,  —  nay,  the  views  themselves  may  be  wrong ; 
but,  to  pretend  to  speak  with  hesitation  or  uncertainty 
respecting  such  convictions,  would  be  not  modesty, 
but  affectation. 

For  let  us  remember  in  what  spirit  we  are  to  enter 
on  this  inquiry.  Not  in  the  spirit  of  mere  cautious 
orthodoxy,  endeavoring  to  find  a  safe  mean  between 
two  extremes,  —  inquiring  what  is  the  view  held  by 
the  sound  and  judicious  and  respectable  men,  who 
were  never  found  guilty  of  any  enthusiasm,  and  under 
the  shelter  of  whose  opinion  we  may  be  secure  from 
the  charge  of  anything  unsound.  Nor  in  the  spirit  of 
the  lawyer,  patiently  examining  documents,  weighing 
evidence,  and  deciding  whether  upon  sufficient  testi 
^ony  there  is  such  a  thing  as  "  prevenient  grace  "  or 
not.  Nor,  once  more,  in  the  spirit  of  superstition. 
The  superstitious  mother  of  the  lower  classes  baptizes 
her  child  in  all  haste,  because  she  believes  it  has  a 


^6  BAPTISM. 

mystic  influence  on  its  health,  or  because  she  fancies 
that  it  confers  the  name  without  which  it  would  not  be 
summoned  at  the  day  of  judgment.  And  the  supersti- 
tious mother  of  the  upper  classes  baptizes  her  child,  too 
in  all  haste,  because,  though-  she  does  not  precisely 
know  what  the  mystic  effect  of  baptism  is,  she  thinks  it 
best  to  be  on  the  safer  side,  lest  her  child  should  die^ 
and  its  eternity  should  be  decided  by  the  omission. 
And  we  go  to  preach  to  the  heathen,  while  there  are 
men  and  women  in  our  Christian  England  so  bewil- 
dered with  systems  and  sermons,  so  profoundly  in  the 
dark  respecting  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
so  utterly  unable  to  repose  in  Eternal  Love  and 
Justice,  that  they  must  guard  their  child /?'om  Him  by 
a  ceremony,  and  have  the  shadow  of  a  shade  of  doubt 
whether  or  not,  for  omission  of  theirs,  that  child's  Cre- 
ator and  Father  may  curse  its  soul  for  all  eternity  1 

We  are  to  enter  upon  this  question  as  a  real  one  of 
life  and  death  ;  as  men  who  feel  in  their  bosoms  sin 
and  death,  and  who  want  to  determine  no  theologi- 
cal nicety,  but  this :  Whether  we  have  a  right  to  claim 
to  be  the  sons  of  God  or  not  ?  And  if  so,  on  what 
grounds  ?  In  virtue  of  a  ceremony  ?  or  in  virtue  of 
a  certain  set  of  feelings  ?  or  in  virtue  of  an  Eternal 
Fact,  —  the  fact  of  God's  Paternity  ? 

I  reply  to  two  objections. 

I.  The  apparent  denial  of  original  sin. 

II.  The  apparent  result  that  baptism  is  nothing. 

I.  The  text  selected  is  a  strong  and  distinct  ondt 
It  proclaims  the  value  of  baptism.  "  Baptism  saves 
as."    But  it  declares  that  it  can  only  be  said  figura- 


BAPTISM.  97 

tively.  "  The  like  figure  whereunto  even  baptism  doth 
also  now  save  us." 

Now,  the  first  reply  I  make  is,  that  in  truth  the 
Romish  view  seems  to  make  lighter  of  original  sin 
than  this.  Methinks  original  sin  must  be  a  trifling 
thing  if  a  little  water  and  a  few  human  words  can  do 
away  with  it :  a  trifling  thing,  if,  after  it  is  done 
away,  there  is  no  distinguishable  difference  between 
the  baptized  and  unbaptized ;  if  the  unbaptized  Quaker 
is  just  as  likely  to  exhibit  the  fruits  of  goodness  as  the 
baptized  son  of  the  Church  of  England.  We  have  got 
out  of  the  land  of  reality,  into  the  domain  of  figments 
and  speculations.  A  fictitious  guilt  is  done  away  with 
by  a  fictitious  pardon ;  neither  the  appearance  nor  the 
disappearance  being  visible. 

Original  sin  is  an  awful  fact.  It  is  not  the  guilt  of 
an  ancestor  imputed  to  an  innocent  descendant,  but  it 
is  the  tendencies  of  that  ancestor  living  in  his  off- 
spring and  incurring  guilt.  Original  sin  can  be  for- 
given only  so  far  as  original  sin  is  removed.  It  is  not 
Adam's  —  it  is  yours  ;  and  it  must  cease  to  be  yours,  or 
else  what  is  "  taking  away  original  sin  "  ? 

Now,  he  who  would  deny  original  sin  must  contra- 
dict all  experience  in  the  transmission  of  qualities. 
The  very  hound  transmits  his  peculiarities  learnt  by 
education,  and  the  horse  of  Spain  his  paces  taught  by 
art  to  his  off'spring,  as  a  part  of  their  nature.  If  it 
were  not  so  in  man,  there  could  be  no  history  of 
man  as  a  species ;  no  tracing  out  the  tendencies  of 
a  race  or  nation ;  nothing  but  the  unconnected  repeti- 
tions of  isolated  individuals,  and  their  lives.  It  is 
plain  that  the  first  man  must  have  exerted  on  his  race 
an  influence  quite  peculiar;  that  his  acts  must  have 
9 


98  BAPTISM. 

biased  their  acts.  And  this  bias  or  tendency  is  what 
we  call  original  sin. 

Now,  original  sin  is  just  this  denial  of  God's  Pater- 
nity, —  refusing  to  live  as  His  children,  and  saying  we 
are  not  His  children.  To  live  as  His  child  is  the  true 
life ;  to  live  as  not  His  child  is  the  false  life.  What 
was  the  Jews'  crime  ?  Was  it  not  this :  "  He  came 
unto  His  own,  and  His  own  received  Him  not ; "  that 
they  were  His  own,  and  in  act  denied  it,  preferring  to 
the  claim  of  spiritual  relationship  the  claim  of  union 
by  circumcision  or  hereditary  descent?  What  was 
the  crime  of  the  Gentiles  ?  Was  it  not  this :  that 
'  when  they  knew  God,  they  glorified  Him  not  as 
God,  neither  were  thankful "  ?  For  what  were  they 
to  be  thankful?  For  being  His  enemies?  Were  they 
not  His  children,  His  sheep  of  another  fold?  Was 
not  the  whole  falsehood  of  their  life  the  worship  of 
demons  and  nothings,  instead  of  Him  ?  Did  not  the 
parable  represent  them  as  the  younger  son,  a  wanderer 
from  home,  but  still  a  son  ? 

From  this  state  Christ  redeemed.  He  revealed  God 
Qot  as  the  Mechanic  of  the  universe ;  not  the  Judge ; 
but  as  the  Father,  and  as  the  Spii'it  who  is  in  man, 
'  lighting  every  man,"  moving  in  man  his  infinite 
desires  and  infinite  afiections.  This  was  the  Revela- 
tion. The  reception  of  that  revelation  is  Regenera- 
tion. "  He  came  unto  His  own,  and  His  own  received 
Elim  not;  but  to  as  many  as  received  Him,  to  them  gave 
He  power  to  become  the  sons  of  God,  even  to  as 
many  as  believed  on  His  Name."  They  were  His  own, 
—  yet  they  wanted  power  to  become  His  own. 

Draw  a  distinction,  therefore,  between  being  the 
child  of  God  and  realizing  it.     The  fact  is  one  thing  • 


BAPTISM.  9t 

the  feeling  of  the  fact,  and  the  life  which  results  from 
that  feeling,  is  another.  Redemption  is  the  taking  of 
lis  out  of  the  life  of  falsehood  into  the  life  of  truth 
and  fact.  "  Of  His  oM^n  will  begat  He  us  by  the 
■word  of  Truth."  But,  remember,  it  is  a  truth :  true, 
whether  you  beheve  it  or  not ;  true,  whether  you  are 
baptized  or  not. 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  that  Revelation  may 
be  accepted.  1.  By  a  public  recognition  called  bap- 
tism. 2.  By  faith.  In  two  ways,  therefore,  may  it  be 
said  that  man  is  saved.  "  We  are  saved  by  faith." 
But  it  is  also  true,  figuratively,  "  Baptism  saves  us." 

n.  If  baptism  is  only  the  public  recognition  and 
symbol  of  a  fact,  is  not  baptism  degraded  and  made 
superfluous? 

2.  Baptism  is  given  as  a  something  to  rest  upon  ; 
nay,  as  a  something  without  which  redemption  would 
soon  become  unreal ;  which  converts  a  doctrine  into  a 
reality ;  which  realizes  visibly  what  is  invisible. 

For  our  nature  is  such,  that  immaterial  truths  are 
unreal  to  us  until  they  are  embodied  in  material  form. 
Form  almost  gives  them  reality  and  being.  For 
instance,  time  is  an  eternal  fact.  But  time  only  exists 
to  our  conceptions  as  an  actuality  by  measurements 
of  materialism.  When  God  created  the  sun,  and 
moon,  and  stars,  to  serve  for  *'  signs,  and  for  seasons, 
and  for  days  and  years,"  He  was  actually,  so  far  as 
man  was  concerned,  creating  time.  Our  minds  would 
be  only  floating  in  an  eternal  Now,  if  it  were  not  for 
symbolical  successions  which  represent  the  processes 
of  thought.  Tlie  clock  in  the  house  is  ahnost  a  fresh 
creation.     It  realizes,     The  gliding  heavens,  and  the 


100  BAPTISM. 

seasons,  and  the  ticking  clock,  —  what  is  time  to  .v 
without  them?     Nothing. 

God's  character,  again,  nay,  God  Himself,  to  us  would 
be  nothing,  if  it  were  not  for  the  creation,  which  is  the 
great  symbol  and  sacrament  of  His  presence.  If 
there  were  no  light,  no  sunshine,  no  sea,  no  national 
and  domestic  life,  —  no  material  witness  of  His  Being, 
—  God  would  be  to  us  as  good  as  lost.  The  Creation 
gives  us  God;  for,  ever  real  in  Himself,  by  Creation 
He  becomes  a  fact  to  us. 

It  is  in  virtue,  again,  of  this  necessity  in  man  for  an 
outward  symbol  to  realize  an  invisible  Idea,  that  a  bit 
of  torn  and  blackened  rag  hanging  from  a  fortress  or 
the  taffrail  of  a  ship  is  a  kind  of  life  to  iron-hearted 
men.  Why  is  it  that  in  the  heat  of  battle  there  is  one 
spot  where  the  sabres  flash  most  rapidly,  and  the  pis- 
tol's ring  is  quicker,  and  men  and  officers  close  in 
most  densely,  and  all  are  gathered  round  one  man, 
round  whose  body  that  tattered  silk  is  wound,  and 
held  with  the  tenacity  of  a  death-struggle  ?  Are  they 
only  children  fighting  for  a  bit  of  rag?  That  flag  is 
everything  to  them :  their  regiment  —  their  country  — 
their  honor  —  their  life.  Yet  it  is  only  a  symbol ! 
Are  symbols  nothing? 

In  the  same  way,  baptism  is  a  fact  for  man  to  rest 
upon ;  a  doctrine  realized  to  flesh  and  blood ;  a 
something  in  eternity  which  has  no  place  in  time, 
brought  down  to  such  time  expressions  as  "  then  and 
there." 

2.  Again,  baptism  is  the  token  of  a  church ;  the  token 
of  an  universal  church.  Observe  the  importance  of 
its  being  the  sacrament  of  an  universal  church  instead 
of  the  symbol  of  a  sect.     Not  episcopacy,  not  justifi 


BAPTISM.  101 

cation  by  faith,  nor  any  party  badge,  but  "  one  bap- 
tism." How  blessed,  on  the  strength  of  this,  to  be 
able  to  say  to  the  baptized  dissenter.  You  are  my 
brother;  you  anathematize  my  church,  link  popery 
and  prelacy  together,  malign  me,  —  but  the  same  sign 
is  on  our  brow,  and  the  same  Father  was  named 
over  our  baptism.  Or,  to  say  to  a  baptized  Romanist, 
You  are  my  brother,  too,  —  in  doctrinal  error,  perhaps, 
—  in  error  of  life,  it  may  be,  too,  —  but  my  brother, — 
our  enemies  the  same,  our  struggle  the  same,  our 
hopes  and  warfare  the  very  same.  Or,  to  the  very  out- 
cast. And  you,  my  poor,  degraded  friend,  are  mj 
brother  still,  —  sunk,  oblivious  of  your  high  calling, — • 
but  still,  whatever  keeps  you  away  from  heaven  keeps 
you  from  your  own.  You  may  live  the  false  life  till  it 
is  too  late ;  but  still,  you  only  exclude  yourself  from 
your  home.  Of  course  this  is  very  offensive.  What  I 
the  Romanist  my  brother !  the  synagogue  of  Satan  the 
house  of  God !  the  Spirit  of  God  dwelling  with  the 
church  of  Rome !  the  believer  in  transubstantiation 
my  brother  and  God's  child  !  Yes,  even  so  ;  and  it  is 
just  your  forgetfulness  of  what  baptism  is  and  means 
that  accounts  for  that  indignation  of  yours.  Do  you 
remember  what  the  elder  brother  in  the  parable  was 
doing?  He  went  away  sulky  and  gloomy,  because  one 
not  half  so  good  as  himself  was  recognized  as  his 
father's  child. 

3.  Baptism  is  seen  to  be  no  mere  superfluity,  when 
you  remember  that  it  is  an  authoritative  symbol. 
Draw  the  distinction  between  an  arbitrary  symbol 
and  an  authoritative  one  —  for  this  difference  is  every- 
thing. 

I  take  once  again-  the  illustration  of  the  coronation 
9* 


102  BAPTISM. 

act.  Coronation  places  the  crown  on  the  brow  of  one 
who  is  sovereign.  It  does  not  make  the  fact;  it  wit 
nesses  it.  Is  coronation,  therefore,  nothing?  An 
arbitrary  symbolical  act,  agreed  on  by  a  few  friends 
of  the  sovereign,  would  be  nothing ;  but  an  act  which 
is  the  solemn  ratification  of  a  country  is  everything. 
It  realizes  a  fact  scarcely  till  then  felt  to  be  real.  Yet 
the  fact  was  fact  before,  —  otherwise  the  coronation 
would  be  invalid.  Even  when  the  third  WiUiam  was 
crowned,  there  was  the  symbol  of  a  previous  fact,  — 
the  nation's  decree  that  he  should  be  king ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, ever  after,  all  is  dated  back  to  that.  You 
talk  of  crown-prerogatives.  You  say,  in  your  loyalty, 
you  would  bow  to  the  crown  though  it  hung  upon  a 
bush.  Yet  it  is  only  a  symbol  1  You  only  say  it  "  in 
a  figure."  But  that  figure  contains  within  it  the  roy- 
alty of  England. 

In  a  figure,  the  Bible  speaks  of  baptism  as  you 
speak  of  coronation,  as  identical  with  that  which  it 
proclaims.  It  calls  it  regeneration.  It  says  baptism 
saves.  A  grand  figure,  because  it  rests  upon  eternal 
fact.     Call  you  that  nothing? 

We  look  to  the  Bible  to  corroborate  this.  In  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles,  Cornelius  is  baptized.  On  what 
grounds?  To  manufacture  him  into  a  child  of  God? 
or  because  he  was  the  child  of  God  ?  Did  his  baptism 
create  the  fact?  or  was  the  fact  prior  to  his  baptism, 
and  the  ground  on  which  his  baptism  was  valid  ?  The 
history  is  this :  St.  Peter  could  not  believe  that  a  Gen- 
tile could  be  a  child  of  God.  But  the  miraculous 
phenomena  manifested,  to  his  astonishment,  that  this 
Gentile  actually  was  God's  child,  —  whereupon  the 
argument   of  Peter  was   very  natural :    He  has   the 


BAPTISM.  lOB 

Bpiiit ;  therefore  baptism  is  superfluous  !  Nay,  he  has 
the  spirit ;  therefore  give  him  the  symbol  of  the  spirit. 
Let  it  be  revealed  to  others  what  he  is.-  He  is  heir  to 
the  inheritance;  therefore  give  him  the  title-deed.  He 
is  of  royal  lineage,  —  put  the  crown  upon  his  head. 
He  is  a  child  of  God,  —  baptize  him.  "  Who  shall  for- 
bid water,  seeing  these  have  received  the  Holy  Ghost 
a?  well  as  we." 

One* illustration  more  from  the  marriage  ceremony; 
and  I  select  this  for  two  reasons :  because  it  is  the 
type  in  Scripture  of  the  union  between  Christ  and  His 
church,  and  because  the  church  of  Rome  has  called  it 
a  sacrament. 

A  deep  truth  is  in  that  error.  Rome  calls  it  a  sacra- 
ment, because  it  is  the  authoritative  symbol  of  an 
invisible  fact.  That  invisible  fact  is  the  agreement  of 
two  human  beings  to  be  one.  We  deny  it  to  be  a 
sacrament,  because,  though  it  is  the  symbol  of  an  in- 
visible fact,  it  is  not  the  symbol  of  a  spiritual  fact,  nor 
an  eternal  fact ;  no  spiritual  truth,  but  only  a  change- 
ful human  covenant. 

Now,  observe  the  difference  between  an  arbitrary, 
or  conventional,  and  an  authoritative  ceremony  of 
marriage-union.  There  are  conventional  acknowledg- 
ments of  that  agreement,  ceremonies  peculiar  to  cer- 
tain districts,  private  pledges,  betrothals.  In  the  sight 
of  God  those  are  valid ;  they  cannot  be  hghtly  broken 
without  sin.  You  cannot  in  the  courts  of  heaven  dis- 
tinguish between  an  oath  to  God  and  a  word  pledged 
to  man.  He  said.  Let  your  yea  be  yea,  and  your  nay 
nay.  Such  an  engagement  cannot  be  infringed  with- 
out penalty :  the  penalty  of  frivolized  hearts,  aud  that 
habit   of  changefulness    of  attachment   which   is  th© 


104  BAPTISM. 

worst  of  penalties.  But  now,  additional  to  that,  will 
any  one  say  that  the  marriage  ceremony  is  superflu- 
ous, —  that  the  ring  he  gives  his  wife  is  nothing?  It 
is  everything.  It  is  the  authoritative  ratification,  by  a 
country  and  before  God,  of  that  which  before  was,  for 
all  purposes  of  earth,  unreal.  Authoritative, —  therein 
lies  the  difierence.  Just  in  that  authoritativeness 
lies  the  question  whether  the  ceremony  is  nothing,  or 
everything.  . 

And  yet  remember,  the  ceremony  itself  does  not 
pretend  to  create  the  fact.  It  only  claims  to  realize 
the  fact.  It  admits  the  fact  existing  previously.  It 
bases  itself  upon  a  fact.  Forasmuch  as  two  persons 
have  consented  together,  and  forasmuch  as  a  token 
and  pledge  of  that,  in  the  shape  of  a  ring,  has  been 
given,  therefore — only  therefore — the  appointed  minis- 
ter pronounces  that  they  are  what  betrothal  had  made 
them  already  in  the  sight  of  God. 

Exactly  so,  the  authoritativeness  is  the  all  in  all 
which  converts  baptism  from  a  mere  ceremony  into  a 
sacrament.  Baptism  is  not  merely  a  conventional 
arrangement,  exceedingly  convenient,  agreed  on  by 
men  to  remind  themselves  and  one  another  that  they 
are  God's  children,  —  but  valid  as  a  legal,  eternal 
Truth,  a  condensed,  embodied  Fact. 

Is  this  making  baptism  nothing?  I  should  rather 
say  baptism  is  everything.     Baptism  saves  us. 

One  word  now  practically.  I  address  myself  to 
any  one  who  is  conscious  of  fault,  sin-laden,  strug- 
gling with  the  terrible  question  whether  he  has  a 
right  to  claim  God  as  his  Father  or  not ;  bewildered 
oa  the  one  side  by  Romanism,  on  the  other  by 
Calvinism.     Mv  brother !   let  not  either  of  these  rob 


BAPTISM.  105 

you  of  your  privileges.  Let  not  Rome  send  you  to 
the  fearful  questioning  as  to  whether  the  mystic  seed 
infused  at  a  certain  moment  by  an  act  of  man  remains 
in  you  still,  or  whether  it  has  been  so  impaired  by  sin 
that  henceforth  there  is  nothing  but  penance,  tears, 
and  uncertainty,  until  the  grave.  Let  not  Calvinism 
send  you,  with  terrible  self-inspection,  to  the  more 
dreadful  task  of  searching  3'our  own  soul  for  the 
warrant  of  your  redemption,  and  deciding  whether 
you  have  or  not  the  feelings  and  the  faith  which  give 
you  a  right  to  be  one  of  God's  elect.  Better  make 
up  your  mind  at  once  you  have  not ;  you  have  no 
feelings  that  entitle  you  to  that.  Take  your  stand 
upon  the  broader,  sublimer  basis  of  God's  Paternity 
God  created  the  world ;  God  redeemed  the  world 
Baptism  proclaims  separately,  personally,  by  name 
to  you,  God  created  you  —  God  redeemed  you.  Bap 
tisra  is  your  warrant,  —  you  are  His  child.  And  now 
because  you  are  His  child,  live  as  a  child  of  God  ;  bo- 
redeemed  from  the  life  of  evil,  which  is  false  to  your 
nature,  into  the  Life  of  Light  and  Goodness,  which  is  the 
Truth  of  your  Being.  Scorn  all  that  is  mean;  hate  all 
that  is  false  j  struggle  with  all  that  is  impure.  Love 
whatsoever  "  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are 
just,  whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things 
are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report ;  "  cer- 
tain that  God  is  on  your  side,  and  that  whatever  keeps 
you  from  Him  keeps  you  from  your  own  Father. 
Live  the  simple,  lofty  life  which  befits  an  heir  of  im- 
mortality. 


VI. 

[Preached  October  13,  1850.] 

ELIJAH. 

1  Kings  xix.  4.  — '*  But  he  himself  went  on  a  day's  journey  into  the 
wilderness,  and  came  and  sat  down  under  a  juniper-tree  ;  and  he 
requested  for  himself  that  he  might  die  ;  and  said.  It  is  enough  :  now, 
0  Lord,  take  away  my  life-;  for  I  am  not  better  than  my  fathers." 

It  has  been  observed  of  the  holy  men  of  Scripture, 
that  their  most  signal  failures  took  place  in  those 
points  of  character  for  which  they  were  remarkable 
in  excellence.  Moses  was  the  meekest  of  men  ;  but  it 
was  Moses  who  "  spake  unadvisedly  with  his  lips." 
St.  John  was  the  apostle  of  charity ;  yet  he  is  the  very 
type  to  us  of  religious  intolerance,  in  his  desire  to  call 
down  fire  from  heaven.  St.  Peter  is  proverbially  the 
apostle  of  impetuous  intrepidity ;  yet  twice  he  proved 
a  craven.  If  there  were  anything  for  which  Elijah  is 
remarkable,  we  should  saj'  it  was  superiority  to  human 
weakness.  Like  the  Baptist,  he  dared  to  arraign  and 
rebuke  his  sovereign ;  like  the  commander  who  cuts 
down  the  bridge  behind  him,  leaving  himself  no  alter- 
native but  death  or  victory,  he  taunted  his  adversaries, 
the  priests  of  Baal,  on  Mount  Carmel,  making  them 
gnash  their  teeth  and  cut  themselves  with  knives,  but 
ut  the  same  time  insuring  for  himself  a  terrible  end, 

(106) 


ELIJAH,  107 

in  case  of  failure,  from  his  exasperated  foes.  And 
again,  in  his  last  hour,  when  he  was  on  his  way  to  a 
strange  and  unprecedented  departure  from  this  world, 
when  the  whirlwind  and  flame-chariot  were  ready,  he 
asked  for  no  human  companionship.  The  bravest  men 
are  pardoned  if  one  lingering  feeling  of  human  weak- 
ness clings  to  them  at  the  last,  and  they  desire  a 
human  eye  resting  on  them,  a  human  hand  in  theirs, 
a  human  presence.  But  Elijah  would  have  rejected 
all.  In  harmony  with  the  rest  of  his  lonely,  severe 
character,  he  desired  to  meet  his  Creator  alone. 
Now,  it  was  this  man,  —  so  stern,  so  iron,  so  inde- 
pendent, so  above  all  human  weakness,  —  of  whom  it  is 
recorded  that  in  his  trial  hour  he  gave  way  to  a  fit  of 
petulance  and  querulous  despondency  to  which  there 
is  scarcely  found  a  parallel.  Religious  despondency, 
therefore,  is  our  subject. 

I.  The  causes  of  Elijah's  despondency. 

II.  God's  treatment  of  it. 

I.  The  causes  of  Elijah's  despondency. 

1.  Relaxation  of  physical  strength. 

On  the  reception  of  Jezebel's  message,  Elijah  flies 
for  his  life  ;  toils  on  the  whole  day  ;  sits  down  under 
a  juniper-tree,  faint,  hungry,  and  travel-worn ;  the  gale 
of  an  oriental  evening,  damp  and  heavy  with  languid 
sweetness,  breathing  on  his  face.  The  prophet  and 
the  man  give  way.  He  longs  to  die  ;  you  cannot  mis- 
take the  presence  of  causes  in  part  purely  physical. 

We  are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  Of  that 
constitution,  which  in  our  ignorance  we  call  union  of 
soul  and  body,  we  know  little  respecting  what  is  cause 
and  what  eff'ect.     We  would  fain  believe  that  the  mind 


108  ELIJAH. 

has  power  over  the  body ;  but  it  is  just  as  true  that 
the  body  rules  the  mind.  Causes  apparently  the  most 
trivial  —  a  heated  room,  want  of  exercise,  a  sunless 
day,  a  northern  aspect  —  will  make  all  the  difference 
between  happiness  and  unhappiness,  between  faith  and 
doubt,  between  courage  and  indecision.  To  our  fancy 
there  is  something  humiliating  in  being  thus  at  the 
nercy  of  our  animal  organism.  We  would  fain  find 
nobler  causes  for  our  emotions.  We  talk  of  the 
hiding  of  God's  countenance,  and  the  fiery  darts  of 
Satan.  But  the  picture  given  here  is  true.  The 
body  is  the  channel  of  our  noblest  emotions  as  well 
as  our  sublimest  sorrows. 

Two  practical  results  follow.  First,  instead  of  vili- 
fying the  body,  complaining  that  our  nobler  part  is 
chained  down  to  a  base  partner,  it  is  worth  recollect- 
ing that  the  body,  too,  is  the  gift  of  God,  in  its  way 
Divine,  —  "the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost;"  and  that 
to  keep  the  body  in  temperance,  soberness,  and  chas- 
tity, to  guard  it  from  pernicious  influence,  and  to  obey 
the  laws  of  health,  are  just  as  much  religious  as  they 
are  moral  duties ;  just  as  much  obligatory  on  the  Chris- 
tian as  they  are  on  a  member  of  a  Sanitary  Committee. 
Next,  there  are  persons  melancholy  by  constitution,  in 
whom  the  tendency  is  incurable  ;  you  cannot  exorcise 
the  phantom  of  despondency.  But  it  is  something  to 
know  that  it  is  a  phantom,  and  not  to  treat  it  as  a  real- 
ity, —  something  taught  by  Elijah's  history,  if  we  only 
learn  from  it  to  be  patient,  and  wait  humbly  the  tirno 
and  good  pleasure  of  God. 

2.  Want  of  sympathy.  "  I,  even  I  only,  am  left.'' 
Lay  the  stress  on  only.  The  loneliness  of  his  position 
was  shocking  to  Elijah.     Surprising  this;   for  Elijah 


ELIJAH.  109 

wanted  no  sympathy  in  a  far  harder  trial  on  Mount 
Carmel.  It  was  in  a  tone  of  triumph  that  he  pro- 
claimed that  he  was  the  single,  solitary  prophet  of  the 
Lord,  while  Baal's  prophets  were  four  hundred  and 
fifty  men. 

Observe,  however,  the  difference.  There  was  in 
that  case  an  opposition  which  could  be  grappled  with ; 
here,  nothing  against  which  mere  manhood  was  avail- 
ing. The  excitement  was  passed,  —  the  chivalrous 
look  of  the  thing  gone.  To  die  as  a  martyr, — yes,  that 
were  easy,  in  grand  failure ;  but  to  die  as  a  felon,  —  to 
be  hunted,  caught,  taken  back  to  an  ignominious  death, 
—  flesh  and  blood  recoiled  from  that. 

And  Elijah  began  to  feel  that  popularity  is  not  love. 
The  world  will  support  you  when  you  have  constrained 
its  votes  by  a  manifestation  of  power,  and  shrink  from 
you  when  power  and  greatness  are  no  longer  on  your 
side.     "  I,  even  I  only,  am  left."  ^ 

This  trial  is  most  distinctly  realized  by  men  of  Eli- 
jah's stamp,  and  placed  under  Elijah's  circumstances. 
It  is  the  penalty  paid  by  superior  mental  and  moral 
qualities,  that  such  men  must  make  up  their  minds  to 
live  without  sympathy.  Their  feelings  will  be  misun- 
derstood, and  their  projects  uncomprehended.  They 
must  be  content  to  live  alone.  It  is  sad  to  hear  such 
appeal  from  the  present  to  the  judgment  of  the  future. 
Poor  consolation  !  Elijah  has  been  judged  at  that  bar. 
We  are  his  posterity ;  our  reverence  this  day  is  the 
judgment  of  posterity  on  him.  But  to  Elijah  what  is 
that  now?  Elijah  is  in  that  quiet  country  where  the 
voice  of  praise  and  the  voice  of  blame  are  alike  un- 
heard. Elijah  lived  and  died  alone ;  once  only  the  bit- 
10 


no  ELIJAH. 

terness  of  it  found  expression.  But  what  is  posthu- 
mous justice  to  the  heart  that  ached  then  ? 

What  greater  minds  hke  Ehjah's  have  felt  intensely, 
all  we  have  felt  in  our  own  degree.  Not  one  of  us 
but  what  has  felt  his  heart  aching  for  want  of  sym- 
pathy. We  have  had  our  lonely  hours,  our  days  of 
disappointment,  and  our  moments  of  hopelessness, — 
times  when  our  highest  feelings  have  been  misunder- 
stood, and  our  purest  met  with  ridicule. 

Days  when  our  heavy  secret  was  lying  unshared, 
like  ice  upon  the  heart.  And  then  the  spirit  gives 
way:  we  have  wished  that  all  were  over;  that  we 
could  lie  down  tired,  and  rest  like  the  children,  from 
life ;  that  the  hour  was  come  when  we  could  put 
down  the  extinguisher  on  the,  lamp,  and  feel  the  last 
grand  rush  of  darkness  on  the  spirit. 

Now,  the  final  cause  of  this  capacity  for  depression, 
t]^e  reason  for  which  it  is  granted  us,  is  that  it  may 
make  God  necessary.  In  such  moments  it  is  felt  that 
sympathy  beyond  human  is  needful.  Alone,  the  world 
against  him,  Elijah  turns  to  God.  "  It  is  enough  j 
now,  0  Lordy 

3.  Want  of  occupation. 

As  long  as  Elijah  had  a  prophet's  work  to  do,  severe 
as  that  work  was,  all  went  on  healthily ;  but  his  occu- 
pation was  gone.  To-morrow  and  the  day  after,  what 
has  he  left  on  earth  to  do  ?  The  misery  of  having 
nothing  to  do  proceeds  from  causes  voluntary  or  invol- 
untary in  their  nature.  Multitudes  of  our  race,  by 
circumstances  over  which  they  have  no  control,  in 
single  life  or  widowhood,  —  in  straitened  circum- 
stances,—  are  compelled  to  endure  lonely  days,  and 
stiU   more   lonely  nights   and   evenings.      They   who 


ELIJAH.  Ill 

have  felt  the  hours  hang  so  heavy  can  comprehend 
part  of  Elijah's  sadness. 

This  misery,  however,  is  sometimes  voluntarily  in- 
curred. In  artificial  civilization  certain  persons  ex- 
empt themselves  from  the  necessity  of  work.  They 
eat  the  bread  which  has  been  procured  by  the  sweat 
of  the  brow  of  others ;  they  skim  the  surface  of  the 
thought  which  has  been  ploughed  by  the  sweat  of  the 
brain  of  others.  They  are  reckoned  the  favored  ones 
of  fortune,  and  envied.  Are  they  blessed  ?  The  law 
of  Kfe  is.  In  the  sweat  of  thy  brow  thou  shalt  eat 
bread.  No  man  can  evade  that  law  with  impunity. 
Like  all  God's  laws,  it  is  its  own  executioner.  It  has 
strange  penalties  annexed  to  it.  Would  you  know 
them  ?  Go  to  the  park,  or  the  esplanade,  or  the  soli- 
tude after  the  night  of  dissipation,  and  read  the  penal- 
ties of  being  useless  in  the  sad,  jaded,  hstless  coun- 
tenances,—  nay,  in  the  very  trifles  which  must  be 
contrived  to  create  excitement  artificially.  Yet  thesQ 
very  eyes  could,  dull  as  they  are,  beam  with  intelli- 
gence ;  on  many  of  those  brows  is  stamped  the  mark 
of  possible  nobility.  The  fact  is,  that  the  capacity  of 
ennui  is  one  of  the  signatures  of  man's  immortality. 
It  is  his  very  greatness  which  makes  inaction  mis- 
ery. If  God  had  made  us  only  to  be  insects,  with  no 
flobler  care  incumbent  on  us  than  the  preservation  of 
our  lives,  or  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  we  might  be 
content  to  flutter  from  sweetness  to  sweetness,  and 
from  bud  to  flower.  But  if  men  with  souls  live  only 
to  eat  and  drink  and  be  amused,  is  it  any  wonder  if 
life  be  darkened  with  despondency  ? 

4.  Disappointment  in  the  expectation  of  success. 
On  Carmel  the  great  object  for  which  Elijah  had  lived 


112  ELIJAH. 

seemed  on  the  point  of  being  realized.  Baal's  proph- 
ets were  slain ;  Jehovah  acknowledged  with  one 
voice ;  false  worship  put  down.  Elijah's  life-aim,  the 
transformation  of  Israel  into  a  kingdom  of  God,  was 
all  but  accomplished.  In  a  single  day  all  this  bright 
picture  was  annihilated. 

Man  is  to  desire  success,  but  success  rarely  comes. 
The  wisest  has  written  upon  life  its  sad  epitaph —  "  All 
is  vanity,"  that  is,  nothingness. 

The  tradesman  sees  the  noble  fortune  for  which  he 
lived,  every  coin  of  which  is  the  representative  of  so 
much  time  and  labor  spent,  squandered  by  a  spendthrift 
son.  The  purest  statesmen  find  themselves  at  last 
neglected,  and  rewarded  by  defeat.  Almost  never  can 
a  man  look  back  on  life  and  say  that  its  anticipations 
have  been  realized.  For  the  most  part  life  is  disap- 
pointment, and  the  moments  in  which  this  is  keenly 
realized  are  moments  like  this  of  Elijah's. 

II,  God's  treatment  of  it. 

1.  First,  he  recruited  his  servant's  exhausted 
strength.  Read  the  history.  Miraculous  meals  are 
given,  —  then  Elijah  sleeps,  wakes,  and  eats :  on  the 
strength  of  that,  goes  forty  days'  journey.  In  other 
words,  like  a  wise  physician,  God  administers  food, 
rest,  and  exercise ;  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  pro- 
ceeds to  expostulate,  —  for,  before,  Elijah's  mind  was 
unfit  for  reasoning. 

Persons  come  to  the  ministers  of  God  in  seasons  of 
despondency ;  they  pervert,  with  marvellous  ingenuity, 
all  the  consolation  which  is  given  them,  turning  whole- 
some food  into  poison.  Then  we  begin  to  perceive  the 
wisdom  of  God's   simple,  homely  treatment  of  Elijah, 


ELIJAH.  113 

and  discover  that  there  are  spiritual  cases  which  are 
cases  for  the  physician  rather  than  the  divine. 

2.  Next  Jehovah  calmed  his  stormy  mind  by  the 
healing  influences  of  Nature.  He  commanded  the 
hurricane  to  sweep  the  sky,  and  the  earthquake  to 
shake  the  ground.  He  lighted  up  the  heavens  till 
they  were  one  mass  of  fire.  All  this  expressed  and 
reflected  Elijah's  feelings.  The  mode  in  which  Nature 
soothes  us  is  by  finding  meeter  and  nobler  utterance 
for  our  feelings  than  we  can  find  in  words, — by 
expressing  and  exalting  them.  In  expression  there  is 
relief.  Elijah's  spirit  rose  with  the  spirit  of  the  storm. 
Stern,  wild  defiance,  strange  joy  —  all  by  turns  were 
imaged  there.  Observe,  "  God  was  not  in  the  wind," 
nor  in  the  fire,  nor  in  the  earthquake.  It  was  Elijah's 
stormy  self  reflected  in  the  moods  of  the  tempest,  and 
giving  them  their  character. 

Then  came  a  calmer  hour.  Elijah  rose  in  reverence, 
—  felt  tenderer  sensations  in  his  bosom.  He  opened 
his  heart  to  gentler  influences,  till  at  last  out  of  the 
manifold  voices  of  Nature  there  seemed  to  speak,  not 
the  stormy  passions  of  the  man,  but  the  "  still  small 
voice  "  of  the  harmony  and  the  peace  of  God. 

There  are  some  spirits  which  must  go  through  a  dis- 
cipline analogous  to  that  sustained  by  Elijah.  The 
storm-struggle  must  precede  the  still  small  voice. 
There  are  minds  which  must  be  convulsed  with  doubt 
before  they  can  repose  in  faith.  There  are  hearts 
which  must  be  broken  with  disappointment  before  they 
can  rise  into  hope.  There  are  dispositions  which,  like 
Job,  must  have  all  things  taken  from  them,  before  they 
can  find  all  things  again  in  God.  Blessed  is  the  man 
who,  when  the  tempest  has  spent  its  fury,  recognizes 
10* 


114  ELIJAri. 

his  Father's  voice  in  its  undertone,  and  bares  his  head 
and  bows  his  knee,  as  Elijah  did.  To  such  spirits, 
generally  those  of  a  stern,  rugged  cast,  it  seems  as  if 
God  had  said :  *'  In  the  still  sunshine  and  ordinary- 
ways  of  life  you  cannot  meet  Me ;  but,  like  Job,  in  the 
desolation  of  the  tempest  you  shall  see  My  Form,  and 
hear  My  Voice,  and  know  that  your  Redeemer  liveth." 

3.  Besides,  God  made  him  feel  the  earnestness  of  life. 
What  doest  thou  here,  Elijah  ?  Life  is  for  doing :  a 
prophet's  life  for  nobler  doing, —  and  the  prophet  was 
not  doing,  but  moaning. 

Such  a  voice  repeats  itself  to  all  of  us,  rousing  us 
from  our  lethargy,  or  our  despondency,  or  our  pro- 
tracted leisure,  "  What  doest  thou  here  ?  "  —  here  in 
this  short  life.  There  is  work  to  be  done  ;  evil  put 
down  —  God's  church  purified  —  good  men  encour- 
aged—  doubting  men  directed — a  country  saved  — 
time  going  —  life  a  dream — eternity  long  —  one 
chance,  and  but  one  forever.     What  doest  thou  here  ? 

Then  he  went  on  further,  "  Arise,  go  on  thy  way." 
That  speaks  to  us  :  on  thy  way.  Be  up  and  doing  — 
fill  up  every  hour,  leaving  no  crevice,  nor  craving  for 
a  remorse  or  a  repentance  to  creep  through  afterwards. 
Let  not  the  mind  brood  on  self ;  save  it  from  specular 
tion,  from  those  stagnant  moments  in  which  the  awful 
teachings  of  the  spirit  grope  into  the  unfathomable 
unknown,  and  the  heart  torments  itself  with  questions 
which  are  insoluble  except  to  an  active  life.  For  the 
awful  futvre  becomes  intelligible  only  in  the  light  of 
a  felt  and  active  present.  Go,  return  on  thy  way  if 
thou  art  despondmg,  —  on  thy  way,  health  of  spirit 
will  return. 

4.  He  completed  the  cure  by  the  assurance  of  vie- 


ELIJAH.  115 

tory.  "  Yet  have  I  left  me  seven  thousand  in  Israel 
who  have  not  bowed  the  knee  to  Baal."  So,  then, 
Elijah's  life  had  been  no  failure,  after  all.  Seven 
thousand  at  least  in  Israel  had  been  braced  and 
encouraged  by  his  example,  and  silently  blessed  him, 
perhaps,  for  the  courage  which  they  felt.  In  God's 
world,  for  those  that  are  in  earnest  there  is  no  failure. 
No  work  truly  done,  no  word  earnestly  spoken, 
no  sacriJSce  freo^  made,  was  ever  made  in  vain. 
Never  did  the  cup  of  cold  water  given  for  Christ's 
sake  lose  its  reward. 

We  turn  Jiaturally  from  this  scene  to  a  still  darker 
hour,  and  more  august  agony.  If  ever  failure  seemed 
to  rest  on  a  noble  life,  it  was  when  the  Son  of  Man, 
deserted  by  His  friends,  heard  the  cry  which  pro- 
claimed that  the  Pharisees  had  successfully  drawn  the 
net  round  their  Divine  Victim.  Yet,  from  that  very 
hour  of  defeat  and  death  there  went  forth  the  world's 
life, —  from  that  very  moment  of  apparent  failure 
there  proceeded  forth  into  the  ages  the  spirit  of  the 
conquering  Cross.  Surely,  if  the  Cross  says  any- 
thmg,  it  says  that  apparent  defeat  is  real  victory,  and 
that  there  is  a  heaven  for  those  who  have  nohly  ana 
truly  failed  on  earth. 

Distinguish,  therefore,  between  the  Real  and  the 
Apparent.  Elijah's  apparent  success  was  in  the  shouts 
of  Mount  Carmel :  his  real  success  was  in  the  unos- 
tentatious, unsurmised  obedience  of  the  seven  thou- 
sand who  had  taken  his  God  for  their  God. 

A  lesson  for  all.  For  teachers  who  lay  their  heads 
down  at  night  sickening  over  tlioir  thankless  task. 
Remember  the  power  of  indirect  influences  ;  those 
which  distil  from  a  life,  not  from  a  sudden,  brilliant 


116  ELIJAH. 

eflFort.  The  former  never  fail;  the  latter,  often.  There 
is  good  done  of  which  we  can  never  predicate  the 
when  or  where.  Not  in  the  flushing  of  a  pupil's 
cheek,  or  the  glistening  of  an  attentive  eye  ;  not  in 
the  shining  results  of  an  examination,  does  your  real 
success  lie.  It  lies  in  that  invisible  influence  on  char- 
acter which  He  alone  can  read  who  counted  the  seven 
thousand  nameless  ones  in  Israel. 

For  ministers,  again,  —  what  is  ministerial  success  ? 
Crowded  churches  —  full  aisles  —  attentive  congre- 
gations —  the  approval  of  the  religious  world  —  much 
impression  produced?  Elijah  thought  so 4  and  when 
he  found  out  his  mistake,  and  discovered  that  the 
applause  on  Carmel  subsided  into  hideous  stillness, 
his  heart  well-nigh  broke  with  disappointment.  Min- 
isterial success  lies  in  altered  lives  and  obedient  hum- 
ble hearts ;  unseen  work  recognized  in  the  judgment- 
day. 

A  public  man's  success  ?  That  which  can  be 
measured  by  feast-days,  and  the  number  of  journals 
which  espouse  his  cause  ?  Deeper,  deeper  far  must 
he  work  who  works  for  Eternity.  In  the  eye  of 
That,  nothing  stands  but  gold.  Real  work  —  all  else 
perishes. 

Get  below  appearances,  below  glitter  and  show. 
Plant  your  foot  upon  reality.  Not  in  the  jubilee  of 
the  myriads  on  Carmel,  but  in  the  humblo  silence  of 
the  hearts  of  the  seven  thousand,  lay  the  proof  that 
Elijah  had  not  lived  in  vain. 


VII. 

[Preached  January  12,  1851.] 
NOTES    ON    PSALM    LI. 

Written  by  David,  after  a  double  crime  :  Uriah  put  in  the  forefront  oi 
the  battle,  —  the  wife  of  the  murdered  man  taken,  &c. 

A  DARKER  guilt  you  will  scarcely  find :  kingly  power 
abused  —  worst  passions  yielded  to.  Yet  this  psalm 
breathes  from  a  spirit  touched  with  the  finest  sensibil- 
ities of  spiritual  feeling. 

Two  sides  of  our  mysterious  two-fold  being  here. 
Something  in  us  near  to  hell ;  something  strangely 
near  to  God.  **  Half  beast —  half  devil  ?"  No:  rather 
half  diabolical  —  half  divine  :  half  demon  —  half  Grod. 
This  man  mixing  with  the  world's  sins  in  such  sort 
that  we  shudder.  But  he  draws  near  the  majesty  of 
God,  and  becomes  softened,  purified,  melted. 

Good  to  observe  this  that  we  rightly  estimate : 
generously  of  fallen  humanity  ;  moderately  of  highest 
saintship. 

In  our  best  estate  and  in  our  purest  moments  there 
is  a  something  of  the  Devil  in  us,  which,  if  it  could  bo 
known,  would  make  men  shrink  from  us.  The  germs 
of  the  worst  crimes  are  in  us  all.  In  our  deepest 
degradation  there  remains  something  sacred,  undefiled, 


118  NOTES   ON   PSALM  LI. 

the  pledge  and  gift  of  our  better  nature  ;  a  germ  of 
indestructible  life,  like  the  grains  of  wheat  among  the 
cerements  of  a  mummy,  surviving  through  three 
thousand  years ;  which  may  be  planted,  and  live,  and 
grow  again. 

It  is  this  truth  of  human  feeling  which  makes  the 
Psalms,  more  than  any  other  portion  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, the  link  of  union  between  distant  ages.  The 
historical  books  need  a  rich  store  of  knowledge  before 
they  can  be  a  modern  book  of  life ;  but  the  Psalms 
are  the  records  of  individual  experience.  Personal 
religion  is  the  same  in  all  ages.  The  deeps  of  our 
humanity  remain  unruffled  by  the  storms  of  ages 
which  change  the  surface.  This  psalm,  written  three 
thousand  years  ago,  might  have  been  written  yester- 
day ;  describes  the  vicissitudes  of  spiritual  life  in  aji 
Englishman  as  truly  as  of  a'  Jew.  "  Not  of  an  age, 
but  for  all  time." 

I.  Scripture  estimate  of  sin. 

II.  Spiritual  restoration. 

I.  Scriptural  estimate  of  sin. 

1.  Personal  accountability.  "  My  sin,"  —  strange, 
but  true.  It  is  hard  to  believe  the  sin  we  do  our  own. 
One  lays  the  blame  on  circumstances ;  another,  on 
those  who  tempted  ;  a  third,  on  Adam,  Satan,  or  his 
own  nature,  as  if  it  were  not  himself.  "  The  fathers 
have  eaten  a  sour  grape,  and  the  children's  teeth  are 
set  on  edge."  ■ 

In  this  psalm  no  such  self-exculpation.  Personal 
accountability  throughout.  No  source  of  evil  sug- 
gested or  conceived  but  his  own  guilty  will;  no  shifting 
of  responsibility  ;  no  pleading  of  a  passionate  nature, 


NOTES   ON   PSALM   LI.  119 

or  royal  exposure  as  peculiar.  "  I  have  sinued."  "  I 
acknowledge  my  transgression  ;  my  sin  is. ever  before 
me." 

One  passage  only  seems  at  first  to  breathe  a  dif 
ferent  tone.  "  In  sin  did  my  mother  conceive  me." 
By  some  interpreted  as  referring  to  hereditary  sin ; 
alleged  as  a  proof  of  the  doctrine  of  transmitted  guilt, 
as  if  David  traced  the  cause  of  his  act  to  his  maternal 
character. 

True  as  the  doctrine  is  that  physical  and  moral 
qualities  are  transmissible,  you  do  not  find  that  doc- 
trine here.  It  is  not  in  excuse,  but  in  exaggeration 
of  his  fault,  that  David  speaks.  He  lays  on  himself 
the  blame  of  a  tainted  nature,  instead  of  that  of  a 
single  fault :  not  a  murderer  only,  but  of  a  murderous 
nature.  "  Conceived  in  sin."  From  first  moments 
up  till  then,  he  saw  sin  -=— sin  —  sin  ;    nothing  but  sin. 

Learn  the  individual  character  of  sin,  —  its  personal 
origin  and  personal  identity.  There  can  be  no  trans- 
ference of  it.  It  is  individual  and  incommunicable. 
My  sin  cannot  be  your  sin,  nor  yours  mine. 

Conscience,  when  it  is  healthy,  ever  speaks  thus . 
"  My  transgression."  It  was  not  the  guilt  of  them  that 
tempted  you.  They  have  theirs ;  but  each,  as  a  separate 
agent,  his  own  degree  of  guilt.  Yours  is  your  own  ; 
the  violation  of  your  own  and  not  another's  sense  of 
duty  ;  solitary,  awful,  unshared,  adhering  to  you  alone, 
of  all  the  spirits  of  the  universe. 

Perilous  to  refer  the  evil  in  us  to  any  source  out  of 
and  beyond  ourselves.  In  this  way  penitence  becomes 
impossible  —  fictitious. 

2.  Estimated  as  hateful  to  God.  "  Against  Thee,  Theo 
only,  have  I  sinned,  and  done  this  evil  in  Thy  sight  j 


120  NOTES  ON  PSALM  LI. 

that  Thou  mightest  be  justified  when  Thou  8peakest,and 
be  clear  when  Thou  judgest."  The  simple  judgment 
of  the  conscience.  But  another  estimate,  born  of  the 
intellect,  comes  in  collision  with  this  religion,  and  be- 
wilders it.  Look  over  life,  and  you  will  find  it  hard  to 
believe  that  sin  is  against  God ;  that  it  is  not  rather 
for  Him. 

Undeniable,  that  out  of  evil  comes  good ;  that  evil 
is  the  resistance  in  battle,  with  which  good  is  created 
and  becomes  possible.  Physical  evil,  for  example.  Hun- 
ger, an  evil,  is  the  parent  of  industry,  human  works, 
all  that  man  has  done  —  beautifies  life.  The  storm-fire 
burns  up  the  forest,  and  slays  man  and  beast;  but 
purifies  the  air  of  contagion.  Lately,  the  tragic  death 
of  eleven  fishermen  elicited  the  sympathy  and  charities 
of  thousands. 

Even  moral  evil  is  also  generative  of  good.  Peter's 
cowardice  enabled  him  to  be  a  comforter ;  "  when  he 
was  converted,  to  strengthen  his  brethren."  David's 
crime  was  a  vantage-ground,  from  which  he  rose 
through  penitence  nearer  to  God.  Through  it  this 
psalm  has  blessed  ages.  But  if  the  sin  had  not  been 
done ! 

Now,  contemplating  this,  we  begin  to  perceive  that 
evil  is  God's  instrument.  "  If  evil  be  in  the  city,  the 
Lord  hath  done  it."  Then  the  contemplative  intel- 
lectualist  looks  over  this  scene  of  things,  and  compla- 
cently approves  of  evil  as  God's  contrivance,  as  much 
as  good  is ;  a  temporary  necessity,  worthy  of  His  wis- 
dom to  create.  And  then,  can  He  truly  hate  that 
which  He  has  made?  Can  His  agent  be  His  enemy? 
Is  it  not  short-sightedness  to  be  angry  with  it?  Not 
the  antagonist  of  God,  surely,  but  His  creature  and 


NOTES   ON   PSALM   LI.  121 

faithful  servant,  this  evil.  Sin  cannot  be  "against 
God." 

Thus  arises  a  horrible  contradiction  between  the 
instincts  of  the  conscience  and  the  judgment  of  the 
understanding.  Judas  must  have  been,  says  the  intel- 
lect, God's  agent  as  much  as  Paul.  "  Why  doth  He 
yet  find  fault  ?  for  who  hath  resisted  His  will  ?  Do 
not  evil  men  perform  His  will  ?  Why  should  I  blame 
sin  in  another  or  myself,  seeing  it  is  necessary  ?  Why 
not  say,  at  once,  Crime  and  Virtue  are  the  same  ?  " 

Thoughts  such  as  these,  at  some  time  or  another, 
I  doubt  not,  haunt  and  perplex  us  all.  Conscience 
is  overborne  by  the  intellect.  Some  time  during 
every  life,  the  impossibility  of  reconciling  these  two 
verdicts  is  felt,  and  the  perplexity  confuses  action. 
Men  sin  with  a  secret  peradventure  behind.  "  Per- 
haps evil  is  not  so  bad  after  all  —  perhaps  good  —  who 
knows?" 

Remember,  therefore,  in  matters  practical,  Conscience, 
not  intellect,  is  our  guide.  Unsophisticated  conscience 
ever  speaks  this  language  of  the  Bible. 

We  cannot  help  believing  that  our  sentiments  tow- 
ards Right  and  Wrong  are  a  reflection  of  God's. 
That  we  call  just  and  true,  we  cannot  but  think  is 
just  and  true  in  His  sight.  That  which  seems  base 
and  vile  to  us,  we  are  compelled  to  think  is  so  to 
Him ;  and  this  in  proportion  as  we  act  up  to  duty. 
In  that  proportion  we  feel  that  His  sentiments  coincide 
with  ours. 

In  such  moments,  when  the  God  within  us  speaka 
most  peremptorily  and  distinctly,  we  feel  that  the  lan- 
guage of  this  psalm  is  true ;  and  that  no  other  lan- 
guage expresses  the  truth.  Sin  is  not  for  God,  — 
11 


122  NOTES   ON   PSALM   LI. 

cannot  be ;  but  "  against  God."  An  opposition  to 
His  will,  a  contradiction  to  His  nature ;  not  a  coinci- 
dence with  it.  He  abhors  it,  —  will  banish  it,  and 
annihilate  it. 

In  these  days,  when  French  sentimentalism,  theo- 
logical dreams,  and  political  speculations,  are  unset- 
tling the  old  landmarks  with  fearful  rapidity,  if  we  do 
not  hold  fast,  and  that  simply  and  firmly,  that  first  prin- 
ciple, that  right  is  right  and  wrong  wrong,  all  our 
moral  judgments  wiU  become  confused,  and  the  peni- 
tence of  the  noblest  hearts  an  absurdity.  For  what 
can  be  more  absurd  than  knowingly  to  reproach  our- 
selves for  that  which  God  intended? 

3.  Sin  estimated  as  separation  from  God.  Two 
views  of  sin :  The  first  reckoning  it  evil,  because 
consequences  of  pain  are  annexed  ;  the  second,  evil, 
because  a  contradiction  of  our  own  nature  and  God's 
will. 

In  this  psalm  the  first  is  ignored ;  the  second,  im- 
plied throughout.  "  Take  not  thy  Holy  Spirit  from 
me."  —  "  Have  mercy  upon  me,"  does  not  mean,  Save 
me  from  torture.  You  cannot  read  the  psalm  and 
think  so.  It  is  not  the  trembling  of  a  craven  spirit  in 
anticipation  of  torture,  but  the  agonies  of  a  noble  one 
in  the  horror  of  being  evil. 

If  the  first  view  were  true,  then,  if  God  were  by 
an  act  of  will  to  reverse  the  consequences,  and  annex 
pain  to  goodness  and  joy  to  crime,  to  lie  and  injure 
would  become  Duty  as  much  as  before  they  were 
sins.  But  penalties  do  not  change  good  into  evil. 
Good  is  forever  good ;  evil  is  forever  evil.  God  Him- 
self could  not  alter  that  by  a  command.     Eternal  hell 


NOTES   ON   PSALM   LI.  128 

could  not  make  Truth  wrong ;  nor  everlasting  pleasure 
ennoble  sensuality. 

Do  you  fancy  that  men  like  David,  shuddering  in 
sight  of  evil,  dreaded  a  material  hell  ?  I  venture  to 
say,  into  true  penitence  the  idea  of  punishment  never 
enters.  If  it  did,  it  would  be  almost  a  relief;  but,  0  1 
those  moments  in  which  a  selfish  act  has  appeared 
more  hideous  than  any  pain  which  the  fancy  of  a  Dante 
could  devise !  when  the  idea  of  the  strife  of  self-will  in 
battle  with  the  loving  will  of  God,  prolonged  forever, 
has  painted  itself  to  the  imagination  as  the  real  Infinite 
Hell !  when  self  concentration  and  the  extinction  of 
love  in  the  soul  has  been  felt  as  the  real  damnation  of 
the  Devil  nature ! 

And  recollect  how  sparingly  Christianity  appeals  to 
the  prudential  motives.  Use  them  it  does,  because 
they  are  motives — but  rarely.  Retribution  is  a  truth; 
and  Christianity,  true  to  nature,  warns  of  retribution. 
But,  except  to  rouse  men  sunk  in  forgetfulness,  or 
paltering  with  truth,  it  almost  never  appeals  to  it ; 
and  never  with  the  hope  of  eliciting  from  such  motives 
as  the  hope  of  heaven,  or  the  fear  of  hell,  high  good- 
ness. 

To  do  good  for  reward,  the  Son  of  Man  declares  to 
be  the  sinner's  religion.  "  If  ye  lend  to  them  who 
lend  to  you,  what  thank  have  ye?" — and  He  distinctly 
proclaims  that  alone  to  be  spiritually  good,  "  the 
nghteousness  of  God,"  which  "  does  good,  hoping  for 
nothing  in  return ;  "  adding,  as  the  only  motive,  "  that 
ye  may  be  the  children  of  (that  is,  resemble)  your 
Father  which  is  in  Heaven ;  for  He  maketh  His  sun  to 
shine  on  the  evil  and  the  good,  and  sendeth  rain  on  the 
just  and  on  the  unjust." 


124:  NOTES   ON  ISALM  LI. 

II.  Restoration. 

1.  First  step,  —  Sacrifice  of  a  broken  spirit. 

Observe  the  accurate  and  even  Christian  perception 
of  the  real  meaning  of  sacrifice  by  the  ancient  spiritU' 
allj-minded  Jews. 

Sacrifice  has  its  origin  in  two  feefings :  one  human ; 
one  divine  or  inspired. 

True  feeling ;  something  to  be  given  to  God ;  sur- 
rendered;  that  God  must  be  worshipped  with  our 
best. 

Human ;  added  to  this  —  mixed  up  with  it  —  is  the 
fancy  that  this  sacrifice  pleases  God  because  of  the 
loss  or  pain  which  it  inflicts.  Then  men  attribute  to 
God  their  own  revengeful  feelings ;  think  that  the 
philosophy  of  sacrifice  consists  in  the  necessity  of 
punishing ;  call  it  justice  to  let  the  blow  fall  some- 
where, —  no  matter  where  ;  blood  must  flow.  Hence, 
heathen  sacrifices  were  offered  to  appease  the  Deity, 
to  buy  off"  His  wrath,  —  the  purer  the  offering  the 
better.  Iphigenia,  —  to  glut  His  fury.  Instances 
illustrating  the  feeling :  Zaleucus,  —  two  eyes  given 
to  the  law ;  barbarian  rude  notions  of  justness  mixed 
up  with  a  father's  instincts.  Polycrates  and  Amasis, — 
seal  sacrificed  to  avert  the  anger  of  heaven,  supposed 
to  be  jealous  of  mortal  prosperity.  These  notions 
mixed  with  Judaism ;  nay,  are  mixed  up  now  with 
Christian  conceptions  of  Christ's  sacrifice. 

Jewish  sacrifices  therefore  presented  two  thoughts : 
-  -  to  the  spiritual,  true  notions ;  to  the  unspiritual, 
false ;  and  expressed  these  feelings  for  each.  But 
men  like  David  felt  that  what  lay  beneath  all  sacrifice, 
as  its  ground  and  meaning,  was  surrender  to  God's 
will ;  that  a  man's  best  is  himself;  and  to  sacrifice  this 


NOTES   ON   PSALM   LI.  125 

18  the  true  sacrifice.  By  degrees  they  came  to  see 
that  the  sacrifice  was  but  a  form  —  typical ;  and  that 
it  might  be  superseded. 

Compare  this  psalm  with  Psalm  L. 

They  were  taught  this  chiefly  through  sin  and  suf- 
fering. Conscience,  truly  wounded,  could  not  be 
appeased  by  these  sacrifices  which  were  offered  year 
by  year  continually.  The  selfish  coward,  who  saw  in 
sin  nothing  terrible  but  the  penalty,  could  be  satisfied, 
of  course.  Believing  that  the  animal  bore  his  punish- 
ment, he  had  nothing  more  to  dread.  But  they  who 
felt  sin  to  be  estrangement  from  God,  who  were  not 
thinking  of  punishment — what  relief  could  be  given  to 
them  by  being  told  that  the  penalty  of  their  sins  was 
borne  by  another  being?  They  felt  that  only  by  sur- 
render to  God  could  conscience  be  at  rest. 

Learn,  then,  —  God  does  not  wish  pain,  but  good- 
ness ;  not  sufiering,  but  you  —  yourself —  your  heart. 

Even  in  the  sacrifice  of  Christ,  God  wished  only 
this.  It  was  precious  not  because  it  was  pain;  but 
because  the  pain,  the  blood,  the  death,  were  the  last 
and  highest  evidence  of  entire  surrender.  —  Satisfac- 
tion ?  Yes,  the  blood  of  Christ  satisfied.  Why  ? 
Because  God  can  glut  His  vengeance  in  innocent 
blood  more  sweetly  than  in  guilty  ?  Because,  like  the 
barbarian  Zaleucus,  so  long  as  the  whole  penalty  is 
paid.  He  cares  not  by  whom?  Or,  was  it  because  for 
the  first  time  He  saw  human  nature  a  copy  of  the 
Divine  nature  ;  the  will  of  Man  the  Son  perfectly  co- 
incident with  the  will  of  God  the  Father ;  the  Love  of 
Deity  for  the  first  time  exhibited  by  man ;  obedience 
entire,  "  unto  death,  even  the  death  of  the  cross  "  ? 
Was  that  the  sacrifice  which  He  saw  in  His  beloved 
11* 


126  NOTES   ON  PSALM   LI. 

Son  wherewith  He  was  well  pleased  ?  Was  that  the 
sacrifice  of  Him  who,  through  the  Eternal  Spirit,  of- 
fered Himself  without  spot  to  God  ;  the  sacrifice  once 
offered  which  hath  perfected  forever  them  that  are 
sanctified  ? 

2.  Last  step,  —  Spirit  of  Liberty.  Thy  free  spirit, — 
literally,  princely.  But  the  translation  is  right.  A 
princely  is  a  free  spirit;  unconstrained.  Hence,  St. 
James,  "  the  royal  law  of  liberty." 

Two  classes  of  motives  may  guide  to  acts  of  seeming 
goodness:  —  1.  Prudential.     2.  Generous. 

The  agent  of  the  Temperance  Society  appeals  to 
prudential  motives  when  he  demonstrates  the  evils  of 
intoxication;  enlists  the  aid  of  anatomy ;  contrasts  the 
domestic  happiness  and  circumstantial  comfort  of  the 
temperate  home  with  that  of  the  intemperate. 

An  appeal  to  the  desire  of  happiness  and  fear  of 
misery.  A  motive,  doubtless ;  and  of  unquestionable 
potency.  All  I  say  is,  that  from  this  class  of  motives 
comes  nothing  of  the  highest  stamp. 

Prudential  motives  will  move  men ;  but  compare  the 
rush  of  population  from  east  to  west  for  gold  with  a 
similar  rush  in  the  time  of  the  Crusades.  A  dream  — 
a  fancy ;  but  an  appeal  to  generous  and  unselfish 
emotions  ;  to  enthusiasm  which  has  in  it  no  reflex 
consideration  of  personal  greed.  In  the  one  case, 
simply  a  transfer  of  population,  with  vices  and  habits 
unchanged ;  in  the  other,  a  sacrifice  of  home,  country, 
all. 

Tell  men  that  salvation  is  personal  happiness,  and 
damnation  personal  misery,  and  that  goodness  consists 
h\  seeking  the  one  and  avoiding  the  other,  and  you 
"■ill  get  religionists;    but  poor,  stunted,  dwarfish, — ■ 


NOTES    ON   PSALM   LI.  127 

asking,  with  painful  self-consciousness,  Am  I  saved? 
am  I  lost  ?  Prudential  considerations  about  a  distant 
happiness,  conflicting  with  passionate  impulses  to 
secure  a  near  and  present  one ;  men  moving  in 
shackles,  — "  letting  I  dare  not  wait  upon  I  would." 

Tell  men  that  God  is  Love  ;  that  Right  is  Right, 
and  Wrong  Wrong ;  let  them  cease  to  admire  philan- 
thropy, and  begin  to  love  men ;  cease  to  pant  for 
heaven,  and  begin  to  love  God  :  then  the  spirit  of  lib- 
erty begins. 

When  fear  has  done  its  work,  —  whose  office  is  not 
to  create  holiness,  but  to  arrest  conscience,  —  and  sel£ 
abasement  has  set  in  in  earnest,  then  the  Free  Spirit 
of  God  begins  to  breathe  upon  the  soul  like  a  gale 
from  a  healthier  climate,  refreshing  it  with  a  more 
generous  and  a  purer  love.  Prudence  is  no  longer 
left  in  painful  and  hopeless,  struggle  with  desire: 
Love  burets  the  shackles  of  the  soul,  and  we  are  free. 


yiii. 

[Preached  March  2,  1851.] 

OBEDIENCE    THE    ORGAN    OF    SPmiTUAL   KNOWLEDGE. 

John  vii.  17.  —  "  If  any  man  will  do  his  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  do<v 
trine,  whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak  of  myselfc" 

The  first  thing  we  have  to  do  is  to  put  ourselves  in 
possession  of  the  history  of  these  words. 

Jesus  taught  in  the  temple  during  the  Feast  of  Tab- 
ernacles. The  Jews  marvelled  at  His  spiritual  wis- 
dom. The  cause  of  wonder  was  the  want  of  scholas- 
tic education  :  "  How  knoweth  this  man  letters,  never 
having  learned  ? "  They  had  no  conception  of  any 
source  of  wisdom  beyond  learning. 

He  Himself  gave  a  different  account  of  the  matter. 
"  My  doctrine  is  not  mine,  but  His  that  sent  me." 
And  how  he  came  possessed  of  it,  speaking  humanly, 
He  taught  (chap.  v.  30) :  "  My  judgment  is  just,  be- 
cause I  seek  not  my  own  will,  but  the  will  of  the 
Father  which  hath  sent  me." 

That  principle  whereby  He  attained  spiritual  judg- 
ment or  wisdom  He  extends  to  all.  "  If  any  man 
will  do  His  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine, 
whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak  of  myself." 
Here,  then,  manifestly,  there  are  two  opinions  respect- 
ing the  origin  of  spiritual  knowledge  : 

(128) 


OBEDIENCE  THE  ORGAN  OF  SPIRITUAL  KNOWLEDGE.    129 

1.  The  popular  one  of  the  Jews:  relying  on  a  culti- 
vated understanding. 

2.  The  principle  of  Christ,  which  relied  on  trained 
affections  and  habits  of  obedience. 

What  is  Truth?  Study,  said  the  Jews.  Act,  said 
Christ,  and  you  shall  know.  A  very  precious  princi- 
ple to  hold  by  in  these  days ;  and  a  very  pregnant  one 
of  thought  to  us,  who  during  the  next  few  days  must 
be  engaged  in  the  contemplation  of  crime,  and  to 
whom  the  question  will  suggest  itself,  How  can  men's 
lives  be  made  true? 

Religious  controversy  is  fast  settling  into  a  conflict 
between  two  great  extreme  parties :  those  who  be- 
lieve everything,  and  those  who  believe  nothing  — 
the  disciples  of  credulity,  and  the  disciples  of  scep- 
ticism. 

The  first  rely  on  authority. 

Foremost  among  these,  and  the  only  self-consistent 
ones,  are  the  adherents  of  the  Church  of  Rome : 
and  into  this  body,  by  logical  consistency,  ought  to 
merge  all  —  Dissenters,  Churchmen,  Bible  Christians 
—  who  receive  their  opinions  because  their  sect,  their 
church,  or  their  documents,  assert  them,  not  because 
they  are  true  eternally  in  themselves. 

The  second  class  rely  solely  on  a  cultivated  under- 
Btanding.  This  is  the  root-principle  of  Rationalism. 
Enlighten,  they  say,  and  sin  will  disappear.  En- 
lighten, and  we  shall  know  all  that  can  be  known  of 
God.  Sin  is  an  error  of  the  understanding,  not  a 
crime  of  the  will.  Illuminate  the  understanding, 
show  man  that  sin  is  folly,  and  sin  will  disappear. 
Political  Economy  will  teach  public  virtue ;  knowl- 
edge  of  anatomy   will  arrest   the   indulgence   of  the 


130  OBEDIENCE   THE    ORGAN   OF 

passions  Show  the  drunkard  the  inflamed  tissues 
of  the  brain,  and  he  will  be  sobered  by  fear  and 
reason. 

Only  enlighten,  and  spiritual  truths  will  be  tested. 
When  the  anatomist  shall  have  hit  on  a  right  method 
of  dissection,  and  appropriated  sensation  to  this  fila- 
ment of  the  brain,  and  the  religious  sentiment  to  that 
fibre,  we  shall  know  whether  there  be  a  soul  or  not, 
and  whether  consciousness  will  survive  physical  disso- 
lution. When  the  chemist  shall  have  discovered  the 
principle  of  life,  and  found  cause  behind  cause,  we 
shall  know  whether  the  last  cause  of  All  is  a  Personal 
Will  or  a  lifeless  Force. 

Concerning  whom  I  only  remark  now,  that  these 
disciples  of  scepticism  become  easily  disciples  of  cre- 
dulity. It  is  instructive  to  see  how  they  who  sneer  at 
Christian  mysteries  as  old  wives'  fables  bow  in  abject 
reverence  before  Egyptian  mysteries  of  three  thousand 
years'  antiquity ;  and  how  they  who  have  cast  off  a 
God  believe  in  the  veriest  imposture,  and  have  blind 
faith  in  this  most  vulgar  juggling.  Scepticism  and 
credulity  meet.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to  explain.  Dis 
trusting  everything,  they  doubt  their  own  conclusions 
and  their  own  mental  powers ;  and  that  for  which 
they  cannot  account  presents  itself  to  them  as  super 
natural  and  mysterious.  Wonder  makes  them  more 
credulous  than  those  they  sneer  at. 

In  opposition  to  both  these  systems,  stands  the 
Christianity  of  Christ. 

1.  Christ  never  taught  on  personal  authority.  "  My 
doctrine  is  not  mine."  He  taught  "not  as  the 
scribes."  They  dogmatized :  because  "  it  was  writ- 
ten," stickled  for   maxims,  and  lost  principles.      His 


SPIRITUAL   KNOWLEDGE.  131 

authority  was  the  authorit}^  of  Truth,  not  of  person- 
ality :  He  commanded  men  to  believe,  not  because  He 
said  it;  but  he  said  it  because  it  was  true.  Hence 
John  xii.  47,  48,  "  If  any  man  hear  my  words  and 
believe  not,  I  judge  him  not :  the  word  that  I  have 
spoken,  the  same  shall  judge  him  in  the  last  day." 

2.  He  never  taught  that  cultivation  of  the  under- 
standing would  do  all ;  but  exactly  the  reverse.  And 
so  taught  His  apostles.  St.  Paul  taught,  — "  The 
world  by  wisdom  knew  not  God."  His  Master  said, 
not  that  clear  intellect  will  give  you  a  right  heart,  but 
that  a  right  heart  and  a  pure  life  will  clarify  the  intel- 
lect. Not,  Become  a  man  of  letters  and  learning,  and 
you  will  attain  spiritual  freedom;  but.  Do  rightly,  and 
you  will  judge  justly :  Obey,  and  you  will  know.  — 
"  My  judgment  is  just,  because  I  seek  not  mine  own 
will,  but  the  will  of  the  Father  which  sent  me."  —  "  If 
any  man  will  do  His  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doc- 
trine, whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak  of 
myself" 

I.  The  knowledge  of  the  Truth,  or  Clu'istian  knowl- 
edge. 

II.  The  condition  on  which  it  is  attainable. 

Christian  knowledge,  —  "he  shall  know,"  Its  ob- 
ject, —  "  the  doctrine."  Its  degree,  certainty,  —  "  shall 
know." 

Doctrine  is  now,  in  our  modern  times,  a  word  of 
limited  meaning,  being  simply  opposed  to  .practical. 
For  instance,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  would  be 
called  practical ;  St.  Paul's  epistles,  doctrinal.  But  in 
Scripture  doctrine  means  broadly  teaching;  anything 
that  is  taught  is  doctrine.     Christ's  doctrine  embracer 


132  OBEDIENCE   THE   ORGAN   OF 

the  whole  range  of  his  teaching  —  every  principle  and 
every  precept.  Let  us  select  three  departments  of 
"  doctrine  "  in  which  the  principle  of  the  text  will  be 
found  true.  "  If  any  man  will  do  His  will,  he  shall 
know  of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether 
I  speak  of  myself." 

1.  It  holds  good  in  speculative  truth.  If  any  man 
will  do  God's  will,  he  shall  know  what  is  truth  and 
what  is  error.  Let  us  see  how  wilfulness  and  selfish- 
ness hinder  impartiality.  How  comes  it  that  men  are 
almost  always  sure  to  arrive  at  the  conclusions  reached 
by  their  own  party  ?  Surely  because  fear,  interest, 
vanity,  or  the  desire  of  being  reckoned  sound  and  judi- 
cious, or  party  spirit,  bias  them.  Personal  prospects, 
personal  antipathies  —  these  determine  most  men's 
creed.  How  will  you  remove  this  hindrance  ?  By 
increased  cultivation  of  mind?  Why,  the  Romanist  is  as 
accomplished  as  the  Protestant,  and  learning  is  found 
in  the  Church  and  out  of  it.  You  are  not  sure  that 
that  high  mental  cultivation  will  lead  a  man  either  to 
Protestantism  or  the  Church  of  England.  Surely, 
then,  by  removing  self-will,  and  so  only,  can  the 
hindrance  to  right  opinions  be  removed.  Take  away 
the  last  trace  of  interested  feeling,  and  the  way  is 
cleared  for  men  to  come  to  an  approximation  towards 
unity,  even  in  judgment  on  points  speculative ;  and  so 
he  that  will  do  God's  will  shall  know  of  the  doctrine. 

2.  In  practical  truths  the  principle  is  true.  It  is 
more  true  to  say  that  our  opinions  depend  upon  our 
lives  and  habits,  than  to  say  that  our  lives  depend 
upon  our  opinions,  which  is  only  now  and  then  true. 
The  fact  is,  men  think  in  a  certain  mode  on  these 
matters,  because  their  life  is  of  a  certain  character, 


SPIRITUAL    KNOWLEDGE.  133 

and  their  opinions  are  only  invented  afterwards  as  a 
defence  for  tlieir  life. 

For  instance,  St.  Paul  speaks  of  a  maxim  among  the 
Corinthians,  —  "Let  us  eat  and  drink,  ybr  to-morrow 
we  die."  They  excused  their  voluptuousness  on  the 
ground  of  its  consistency  with  their  sceptical  creed. 
Life  was  short.  Death  came  to-morrow.  There  was 
no  hereafter.  Therefore  it  was  quite  consistent  to 
live  for  pleasure.  But  who  does  not  see  that  the  creed 
was  the  result,  and  not  the  cause,  of  the  life  ?  Who 
does  not  see  that  first  they  ate  and  drank,  and  ilien 
believed  to-morrow  we  die  ?  ''  Getting  and  spending, 
we  lay  waste  our  powers."  Eating  and  drinking,  we 
lose  sight  of  the  life  to  come.  When  the  immortal  is 
overborne  and  smothered  in  the  life  of  the  flesh,  how 
can  men  believe  in  the  life  to  come  ?  Then  disbeliev- 
ing, they  mistook  the  cause  for  the  effect.  Their 
moral  habits  and  creed  were  in  perfect  consistency; 
yet  it  was  the  life  that  formed  the  creed,  not  the  creed 
that  formed  the  life.  Because  they  were  sensualists, 
immortality  had  become  incredible. 

Again,  slavery  is  defended  philosophically.  The 
negro  on  his  skull  and  skeleton,  they  say,  has  God's 
intention  of  his  servitude  written  ;  he  is  the  inferior 
animal,  therefore  it  is  right  to  enslave  him.  Did  this 
doctrine  precede  the  slave-trade?  Did  man  arrive  at* 
it,  and  then,  in  consequence,  conscientiously  proceed 
with  human  traffic  ?  Or,  was  it  invented  to  defend 
a  practice  existing  already,  —  the  offspring  of  self- 
interest  ?  Did  not  men  first  make  slaves,  and  then 
search  about  for  reasons  to  make  their  conduct  plau- 
tiblo  to  themselves? 

So,   too,   a   belief   in   predestination   is   sometimes 

12 


134  OBEDIENCE   THE    ORGAN   OF 

alleged  in  excuse  of  crime.  But  a  man  who  suffers 
his  will  to  be  overpowered  naturally  comes  to  believe 
that  he  is  the  sport  of  fate.;  feeling  powerless,  he  be- 
lieves that  God's  decree  has  made  him  so.  But  let 
him  but  put  forth  one  act  of  loving  will,  and  then,  as 
the  nightmare  of  a  dream  is  annihilated  by  an  effort^ 
so  the  incubus  of  a  belief  in  tyrannous  destiny  is  dis- 
sipated the  moment  a  man  wills  to  do  the  Will  of  God. 
Observe,  how  he  knows  of  the  doctrine,  directly  he 
does  the  Will. 

There  is  another  thing  said  respecting  this  knowl- 
edge of  Truth.  It  respects  the  degree  of  certainty,  — 
"  he  shall  Jcnoiv,"  not  he  shall  have  an  opinion.  There 
is  a  wide  distinction  between  supposing  and  knowing  ; 
between  fancy  and  conviction ;  between  opinion  and 
belief  Whatever  rests  on  authority  remains  only 
supposition.  You  have  an  opinion  when  you  know 
what  others  think.  You  Jcnow  when  you  feel.  In 
matters  practical  you  know  only  so  far  as  you  can  do. 
Read  a  work  on  the  "  Evidences  of  Christianity,"  and 
it  may  become  highly  probable  that  Christianity,  &c., 
are  true.  That  is  an  opinion.  Feel  God ;  do  His 
will  till  the  Absolute  Imperative  within  you  speaks  as 
with  a  living  voice,  —  thou  shalt,  and  thou  shalt  not ; 
and  then  you  do  not  think  —  you  Jcnow  —  that  there  is 
God.     That  is  a  conviction  and  a  belief. 

Have  we  never  seen  how  a  child,  simple  and  near  to 
God,  cuts  asunder  a  web  of  sophistry  with  a  single 
direct  question?  How,  before  its  steady  look  and 
simple  argument,  some  fashionable  utterer  of  a  con 
ventional  falsehood  has  been  abashed  ?  How  a  believ 
ing  Christian  scatters  the  forces  of  scepticism,  as  a 
moining  ray,  touching  the  mist  on  the  mountain  side, 


SPIRITUAL   KNOWLEDGE.  135 

makes  it  vanish  into  thin  air  ?  And  there  are  few 
more  glorious  moments  of  our  humanity  than  those  in 
which  Faith  does  battle  against  intellectual  proof, 
when,  for  example,  after  reading  a  sceptical  book,  or 
hearing  a  cold-blooded  materialist's  demonstration,  in 
which  God,  the  soul,  and  life  to  come,  are  proved 
impossible,  up  rises  the  heart,  in  all  the  giant  might 
of  its  inmiortality,  to  do  battle  with  the  understanding, 
and  with  the  simple  argument,  "  I  fed  them  in  my 
best  and  highest  moments  to  be  true,"  annihilates  the 
sophistries  of  logic. 

These  moments  of  profound  faith  do  not  come 
once  for  all ;  they  vary  with  the  degree  and  habit  of 
obedience.  There  is  a  plant  which  blossoms  once 
in  a  hundred  years.  Like  it,  the  soul  blossoms  only 
now  and  then  in  a  space  of  years ;  but  these  moments 
are  the  glory  and  the  heavenly  glimpses  of  our  purest 
humanity. 

11.  The  condition  on  which  knowledge  of  truth  is 
attainable.  "If  any  man  will  do  His  will,  he  shall 
know  of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether 
I  speak  of  myself" 

This  universe  is  governed  by  laws.  At  the  bottom 
of  everything  here  there  is  a  law.  Things  are  in  this 
way,  and  not  that:  we  call  that  a  law  or  condition. 
All  departments  have  their  own  laAvs.  By  submission 
to  them  you  make  them  your  own.  Obey  the  laAvs 
of  the  body  —  such  laws  as  say.  Be  temperate  and 
chaste.  Or  of  the  mind  —  such  laws  as  say.  Fix  the 
attention,  strengthen  by  exercise ;  and  then  their 
prizes  are  yours, — health,  strength,  pliability  of  mus- 
cle, tenaciousness  of  memory,  nimbleness  of  imagina- 


136  OBEDIENCE  THE  ORGAN  OF 

tion,  &c.  Obey  the  laws  of  your  spiritual  being,  and 
it  has  its  prizes,  too.  For  instance,  the  condition  or 
law  of  a  peaceful  life  is  submission  to  the  laws  of 
meekness :  "  Blessed  are  the  meek,  for  they  shall  in- 
herit the  earth."  The  condition  of  the  Beatific  Vision 
is  a  pure  heart  and  life :  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart,  for  they  shall  see  God."  To  the  impure,  God  is 
simply  invisible.  The  condition  annexed  to  a  sense  of 
God's  presence  —  in  other  words,  that  without  which 
a  sense  of  God's  presence  cannot  be  —  is  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  Love :  "  If  we  love  one  another,  God 
dwelleth  in  us,  and  His  Love  is  perfected  in  us." 
The  condition  of  spiritual  wisdom  and  certainty  in 
truth  is  obedience  to  the  will  of  God  —  surrender  of 
private  will :  "  If  any  man  will  do  His  wiU,  he  shall 
know  of  tlie  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether 
I  speak  of  myself" 

In  every  department  of  knowledge,  therefore,  there 
is  an  appointed  "  organ,"  or  instrument  for  discovery 
of  its  specific  truth,  and  for  appropriating  its  specific 
blessings.  In  the  world  of  sense,  the  empirical  intel- 
lect; in  that  world  the  Baconian  philosopher  is  su- 
preme. His  Novum  Organon  is  experience  ;  he  knows 
by  experiment  of  touch,  sight,  &c.  The  religious  man 
may  not  contravene  his  assertions,  —  he  is  lord  in  his 
own  province.  But  in  the  spiritual  world  the  "organ" 
of  the  scientific  man,  sensible  experience,  is  powerless. 
If  the  chemist,  geologist,  physiologist,  come  back  from 
their  spheres  and  say,  "We  find  in  the  laws  of  affinity, 
in  the  deposits  of  past  ages,  in  the  structure  of  the 
human  fram'fe,  no  trace  nor  token  of  a  God,  I  simply 
reply,  I  never  expected  you  would.  Obedience  and 
self-surrender  is  the  sole  organ  by  which  we  gain  a 


SPIRITUAL  KNOWLEDGE.  137 

knowledge  of  that  which  cannot  be  seen  nor  felt. 
"  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard."  ....  And  just  aa 
by  copying  perpetually  a  master  painter's  works  we 
get  at  last  an  instinctive  and  infallible  power  of  recog- 
nizing his  touch,  so,  by  copying  and  doing  God's  will, 
we  recognize  what  is  His,  —  we  know  of  the  teaching, 
whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  it  be  an  arbitrary 
invention  of  a  human  self 

2.  Observe  the  universality  of  the  law.  "  If  any 
man  will  do  His  wiU,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine, 
whether  it  be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak  of  myself" 
The  law  was  true  of  the  Man  Christ  Jesus  Himself. 
He  tells  us  it  is  true  of  all  other  men. 

In  God's  universe  there  are  no  favorites  of  heaven 
who  may  transgress  the  laws  of  the  universe  with 
impunity ;  none  who  can  take  fire  in  the  hand  and 
not  be  burnt;  no  enemies  of  heaven  who  if  they 
sow  corn  will  reap  nothing.  The  law  is  just  and  true 
to  all :  "  Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also 
reap." 

In  God's  spiritual  universe  there  are  no  favorites 
of  heaven  who  can  attain  knowledge  and  spiritual 
wisdom  apart  from  obedience.  There  are  none  repro- 
bate by  an  eternal  decree,  who  can  surrender  self, 
and  in  all  things  submit  to  God,  and  yet  fail  of  spirit- 
ual convictions.  It  is  not,  therefore,  a  rare,  partial 
condescension  of  God,  arbitrary  and  causeless,  which 
gives  knowledge  of  the  Truth  to  some,  and  shuts 
it  out  from  others ;  but  a  vast,  universal,  glorious 
law.  The  light  lighteth  every  man  that  cometh  into 
the  world.  "  If  any  man  will  do  His  will,  he  shall 
know." 

See  the  beauty  of  this  Divine  arrangement.     If  th» 

12* 


138  OBEDIENCE   THE  ORGAN   OF 

certainty  of  truth  depended  upon  the  proof  of  mira- 
cles, prophecy,  or  the  discoveries  of  science,  then 
Truth  would  be  in  the  reach  chiefly  of  those  who  can 
weigh  evidence,  investigate  history  and  languages 
study  by  experiment ;  whereas,  as  it  is,  "  The  meek  will 
He  guide  in  judgment,  and  the  meek  will  He  teach 
His  way."  —  "  Thus  saith  the  high  and  lofty  One  that 
inhabiteth  eternity,  whose  name  is  Holy ;  I  dwell  in 
the  high  and  holy  place,  with  him  also  that  is  of  a  con- 
trite and  humble  spirit."  The  humblest  and  the  weak- 
est may  know  more  of  man,  of  moral  evil  and  of 
good,  by  a  single  act  of  charity,  or  a  prayer  of  self- 
surrender,  than  all  the  sages  can  teach ;  ay,  or  all  the 
theologians  can  dogmatize  upon. 

They  know  nothing,  perhaps,  these  humble  ones, 
of  evidence ;  but  they  are  sure  that  Christ  is  their 
Redeemer.  They  cannot  tell  what  matter  is ;  but  they 
know  that  they  are  Spirits.  They  know  nothing  of  the 
argument  from  design  ;  but  they  feel  God.  The  truths 
of  God  are  spiritually  discerned.  They  have  never 
learned  letters ;  but  they  have  reached  the  Truth  of 
Life. 

3.  Annexed  to  this  condition,  or  a  part  of  it,  is 
earnestness.  "  If  any  man  will  do  His  will."  Now, 
that  word  "  will "  is  not  the  will  of  the  future  tense, 
but  will  meaning  volition.  If  any  man  wills,  resolves, 
has  the  mind  to  do  the  wiU  of  God.  So,  then,  it  is 
not  a  chance,  fitful  obedience  that  leads  us  to  the 
Truth,  nor  an  obedience  paid  while  happiness  lasts 
and  no  longer,  —  but  an  obedience  rendered  in  entire- 
ness  and  in  earnest.  It  is  not  written,  K  any  man 
does  His  will,  —  but  if  any  man  has  the  spirit  and 
desire.     If  we  are  in  earnest  we  shall  jiersevere,  lika 


SPIRITUAL  KNOWLEDGE.  139 

the  Syrophenician  -woman,  even  though  the  ear  of  the 
universe  seem  deaf,  and  Christ  himself  appear  to  bid 
us  back.  If  we  are  not  in  earnest,  diflSculties  will  dis- 
courage us.  Because  will  is  wanting,  we  shall  be 
asking,  still  in  ignorance  and  doubt,  What  is  truth  ? 

All  this  will  seem  to  many  time  misspent.  They  go 
ic  church  because  it  is  the  custom ;  all  Christians  be- 
lieve it  is  the  established  religion.  But  there  are 
hours  —  and  they  come  to  us  all  at  some  period  of  life 
or  other — when  the  hand  of  Mystery  seems  to  lio 
heavy  on  the  soul ;  when  some  life-shock  scatters  exist- 
ence, —  leaves  it  a  blank  and  dreary  waste  henceforth 
forever,  and  there  appears  nothing  of  hope  in  all  the 
expanse  which  stretches  out,  except  that  merciful  gate 
of  death  which  opens  at  the  end;  —  hours  when  the 
sense  of  misplaced  or  ill-requited  affection,  the  feeling 
of  personal  worthlessness,  the  uncertainty  and  mean- 
ness of  all  human  aims,  and  a  doubt  of  all  human  good- 
ness, unfix  the  soul  from  all  its  old  moorings,  and  leave 
it -^  drifting,  drifting  over  the  vast  Infinitude,  with  an 
awful  sense  of  solitariness.  Then  the  man  whose 
faith  rested  on  outward  Authority,  and  not  on  inward 
life,  will  find  it  give  way, —  the  authority  of  the  Priest; 
the  authority  of  the  Church ;  or  merely  the  authority 
of  a  document  proved  by  miracles  and  backed  by 
prophecy;  the  soul, —  conscious  life  hereafter, —  God, 
—  will  be  an  awful  desolate  Perhaps.  Well,  in  such 
moments  you  doubt  all,  —  whether  Christianity  be 
true ;  whether  Christ  was  man,  or  God,  or  a  beautiful 
fable.  You  ask  bitterly,  like  Pontius  Pilate,  What  is 
Truth?  In  such  an  hour  what  remains?  I  reply, 
Obedience.  Leave  those  thoughts  for  the  present. 
Act:  be  merciful  and  gentle  —  honest;  force  yourself 


140   OBEDIENCE  THE  ORGAN  OF  SPIRITUAL  KNOWLEDGE. 

to  abound  in  little  services ;  try  to  do  good  to  others ; 
be  true  to  the  Duty  that  you  know.  That  must  be 
right,  whatever  else  is  uncertain.  And  by  all  the  lawa 
of  the  human  heart,  by  the  word  of  God,  you  shall  not 
be  left  to  doubt.  Do  that  much  of  the  will  of  God 
which  is  plain  to  you,  "  You  shall  know  of  the  doc- 
trine, whether  it  be  of  God," 


IX. 

[Preached  March  30,  1851.] 
RELIGIOUS    DEPRESSION. 

Psalm  xlii.  1-3.  —  "As  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water-brooks,  m 
panteth  my  soul  after  thee,  0  God.  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  for 
the  living  God;  ■when  shall  I  come  and  appear  before  God?  My  tears 
hare  been  my  meat  day  and  night,  while  they  continually  say  unto  me. 
Where  is  thy  God?  " 

The  value  of  the  public  reading  of  the  Psalms  is, 
that  they  express  for  us  indirectly  those  deeper  feel- 
ings which  there  would  be  a  sense  of  indehcacy  in 
expressing  directly. 

Example  of  Joseph:  asking  after  his  father,  and 
blessing  his  brothers,  as  it  were  under  the  personality 
of  another. 

There  are  feelings  of  which  we  do  not  speak  to 
each  other ;  they  are  too  sacred  and  too  delicate.  Such 
are  most  of  our  feelings  to  God.  If  we  do  speak  of 
them,  they  lose  their  fragrance,  —  become  coarse ; 
nay,  there  is  even  a  sense  of  indelicacy  and  exposure. 

Now,  the  Psalms  afford  precisely  the  right  relief  for 
tliis  feeling.  "Wrapped  up  in  the  forms  of  poetry  (meta- 
phor, (fee),  that  which  might  seem  exaggerated  is  ex 
cused  by  those  who  do  not  feel  it;  while  they  who  do 

(141) 


142  RELIGIOUS  DEPEESSION. 

can  read  them,  applying  them,  without  the  suspicion 
of  uttering  their  own  feelings.  Hence  their  soothing 
power ;  and  hence,  while  other  portions  of  Scripture 
may  become  obsolete,  they  remain  the  most  precious 
parts  of  the  Old  Testament.  For  the  heart  of  man  is 
the  same  in  all  ages. 

This  forty-second  Psalm  contains  the  utterance  of  a 
sorrow  of  which  men  rarely  speak.  There  is  a  grief 
worse  than  lack  of  bread  or  loss  of  friends ;  man  in 
former  times  called  it  spiritual  desertion.  But  at  times 
the  utterances  of  this  solitary  grief  are,  as  it  were, 
overheard,  as  in  this  Psalm.  Read  verses  6-7.  And 
in  a  more  august  agony,  "  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast 
thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 

I.  Causes  of  David's  despondency. 

II.  The  consolation. 

I.  Causes  of  David's  despondency. 

1.  The  thirst  for  God.  "  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God, 
for  the  living  God;  when  shall  I  come  and  appear 
before  God?" 

There  is  a  desire  in  the  human  heart  best  described 
as  the  cravings  of  infinitude.  We  are  so  made  that 
nothing  which  has  limits  satisfies. 

Hence  the  sense  of  freedom  and  relief  which  comes 
from  all  that  suggests  the  idea  of  boundlessness,  —  the 
deep  sky,  the  dark  night,  the  endless  circle,  the  illimit- 
able ocean. 

Hence,  too,  our  dissatisfaction  with  all  that  is  or 
can  be  done.  There  never  was  the  beauty  yet,  than 
which  we  could  not  conceive  something  more  beauti- 
ful. None  so  good  as  to  be  faultless  in  our  eyes.  No 
deed  done  by  us,  but  we  feel  we  have  it  in  us  to  do  a 


EELIGIOUS   DEPRESSION.  143 

better.  The  heavens  are  not  clean  in  our  sight ;  and 
the  angels  are  charged  with  foUj. 

Therefore,  to  never  rest  is  the  price  paid  for  our 
greatness.  Could  we  rest,  we  must  become  smaller  in 
soul.  Whoever  is  satisfied  with  what  he  does  has 
reached  his  culminating  point — he  will  progress  no 
more.  Man's  destiny  is  to  be  not  dissatisfied,  but  for- 
ever unsatisfied. 

Infinite  goodness,  —  a  beauty  beyond  what  eye  hath 
seen  or  heart  imagined,  a  justice  which  shall  have  no 
flaw,  and  a  righteousness  which  shall  have  no  blemish, 
—  to  crave  for  that,  is  to  be  "  athirst  for  God." 

2.  The  temporary  loss  of  the  sense  of  God's  person- 
ality.    "  My  soul  is  athirst  for  the  living  God." 

Let  us  search  our  own  experience.  What  we  want 
is,  we  shall  find,  not  infinitude,  but  a  boundless  Que  , 
not  to  feel  that  love  is  the  law  of  this  universe,  but  to 
feel  One  whose  name  is  Love. 

For  else,  if  in  this  world  of  order  there  be  no  One 
in  whose  bosom  that  order  is  centred,  and  of  whose 
Being  it  is  the  expression,  —  in  this  world  of  manifold 
contrivance,  no  Personal  Affection  which  gave  to  the 
skies  their  trembling  tenderness,  and  to  the  snow  its 
purity,  —  then  order,  afi'ection,  contrivance,  wisdom,  are 
only  horrible  abstractions,  and  we  are  in  the  dreary 
universe  alone. 

Foremost  in  the  declaration  of  this  truth  was  the 
Jewish  rel'gion.  It  proclaimed  not,  "  Let  us  medi- 
tate on  the  Adorable  light,  it  shall  guide  our  intel- 
lects," —  which  is  the  most  sacred  verse  of  the  Hindoo 
Sacred  books, — but  ''  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  I  am  that  I 
am."  In  that  word,  I  am,  is  declared  Personality ;  and 
it  contains,  too,  in  the  expression  Thus  saith,  the  rea) 


144  RELIGIOUS    DEPRESSION. 

idea  of  a  Revelation,  namely,  the  voluntary  approach 
of  the  Creator  to  the  creature. 

Accordingly,  these  Jewish  Psalms  are  remarkable 
for  that  personal  tenderness  towards  God,  —  those  out- 
bursts of  passionate,  individual  attachment  which  are 
in  every  page.  A  person  asking  and  giving  heart  for 
heart,  —  inspiring  love,  because  feeling  it,  —  that  was 
the  Israelite's  Jehovah. 

Now,  distinguish  this  from  the  God  of  the  philoso 
pher,  and  the  God  of  the  mere  theologian. 

The  God  of  the  mere  theologian  is  scarcely  a  living 
God.  He  did  live  ;  but  for  some  eighteen  hundred 
years  we  are  credibly  informed  that  no  trace  of  His 
life  has  been  seen.  The  canon  is  closed.  The  proofs 
that  He  was  are  in  the  things  that  He  has  made,  and 
the  books  of  men  to  whom  He  spake ;  but  He  inspires 
and  works  wonders  no  more.  According  to  the  theo- 
logians, He  gives  us  proofs  of  design  instead  of  God 
—  doctrines  instead  of  the  life  indeed. 

Different,  too,  from  the  God  of  the  philosopher. 
The  tendency  of  philosophy  has  been  to  throw  back 
the  personal  Being  further  and  still  further  from  the 
time  when  every  branch  and  stream  was  believed  a 
living  Power,  to  the  period  when  "  principles "  were 
substituted  for  this  belief ;  then  "  Laws  ; "  and  the 
philosopher's  God  is  a  law  into  which  all  other  laws 
are  resolvable. 

Quite  differently  to  this  speaks  the  Bible  of  God. 
Not  as  a  law  ;  but  as  the  Life  of  all  that  is  ;  the  Being 
who  feels  and  is  felt,  —  is  loved  and  loves  again  ;  feels 
my  heart  throb  into  His ;  counts  the  hairs  of  my  head; 
feeds   the  ravens,  and  clothes  the  lilies  ;    hears  my 


RELIGIOUS    DEPRESSION.  145 

prayers,  and  interprets  them  through  a  Spirit  which 
has  affinity  with  my  spirit. 

It  is  a  dark  moment  when  the  sense  of  that  person- 
aHty  is  lost ;  more  terrible  than  the  doubt  of  immor- 
tality. For,  of  the  two,  —  eternity  without  a  personal 
God,  or  God  for  seventy  years  without  immortality,  — 
no  one  after  David's  heart  would  hesitate :  "  Give  me 
God  for  life,  to  know  and  be  known  by  Him."  No 
thought  is  more  hideous  than  that  of  an  eternity  with- 
out Him.  "  My  soul  is  athirst  for  God."  The  desire 
of  immortality  is  second  to  the  desire  for  God. 

3.  The  taunts  of  scoffers.  "  As  the  hart  panteth 
after  the  water-brooks,  so  panteth  my  soul  after  thee, 
0  God."  Now,  the  hart  here  spoken  of  is  the  hart 
hunted,  at  bay,  the  big  tears  rolling  from  his  eyes, 
and  the  moisture  standing  black  upon  his  side.  Let 
us  see  what  the  persecution  was.  "  Where  is  now  thy 
God  ?" — ver.  3.  This  is  ever  the  way  in  religious  per- 
plexity :  the  unsympathizing  world  taunts  or  misunder- 
stands. In  spiritual  grief,  they  ask,  Why  is  he  not  like 
others  ?  In  bereavement,  they  call  your  deep  sorrow 
unbelief.  In  misfortune,  they  comfort  you,  like  Job's 
friends,  by  calling  it  a  visitation.  Or,  like  the  barbari- 
ans at  Melita,  when  the  viper  fastened  on  Paul's  hand, 
no  doubt  they  call  you  an  infidel,  though  your  soul  be 
crying  after  God.  Specially  in  that  dark  and  awful 
hour,  "  Eloi,  Eloi,"  He  called  on  God ;  they  said,  "  Let 
be  ;  let  us  see  whether  Elias  will  come  to  save  Him." 

Now,  this  is  sharp  to  bear.  It  is  easy  to  say  Chris- 
tian fortitude  should  be  superior  to  it.  But  in  dark- 
ness to  have  no  sympathy  —  when  the  soul  gropes  for 
God,  to  have  the  hand  of  man  relax  its  grasp  ?  For- 
estrflies,  small  as  they  are,  drive  the  noble  war-horse 

18 


146  EELIGIODS    DEPEESSION. 

mad  ;  therefore,  David  says,  "  as  a  sword  in  my  bones  " 
(ver.  10).  Now,  observe,  this  feeling  of  forsakenness 
is  no  proof  of  being  forsaken.  Mourning  after  au 
absent  God  is  an  evidence  of  love  as  strong  as  rejoic- 
ing in  a  present  one.  Nay,  further,  a  man  may  be 
more  decisively  the  servant  of  God  and  goodness 
while  doubting  His  existence,  and  in  the  anguish  of  his 
80ul  crying  for  light,  than  while  resting  in  a  common 
creed,  and  coldly  serving  Him.  There  has  been  one, 
at  least,  whose  apparent  forsakenness,  and  whose  seem- 
ing doubt,  bears  the  stamp  of  the  majesty  of  Faith. 
"  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 

II.  David's  consolation. 

1.  And  first,  in  hope  (see  ver.  5)  ;  distinguish 
between  the  feelings  of  faith  that  God  is  present,  and 
the  Jiope  of  faith  that  He  will  be  so. 

There  are  times  when  a  dense  cloud  veils  the  sun- 
light ;  you  cannot  see  the  sun,  nor  feel  him.  Sensitive 
temperaments  feel  depression,  and  that  unaccountably 
and  irresistibly.  No  effort  can  make  you  feel.  Then 
you  hope.  Behind  the  cloud  the  sun  is ;  from  thence 
he  will  come  ;  the  day  drags  through,  the  darkest  and 
longest  night  ends  at  last.  Thus  we  bear  the  darkness 
and  the  otherwise  intolerable  cold,  and  many  a  sleep- 
less night.  It  does  not  shine  now,  but  it  will.  So,  too, 
spiritually. 

There  are  hours  in  which  physical  derangement 
darkens  the  windows  of  the  soul ;  days  in  which  shat- 
tered nerves  make  life  simply  endurance  ;  months  and 
years  in  which  intellectual  difficulties,  pressing  for 
solution,  shut  out  God.  Then  faith  must  be  replaced 
by  hope.     "  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now  ;  but 


RELIGIOUS    DEPRESSION.  147 

thou  shalt  know  hereafter."  Clouds  and  darkness  are 
round  about  Him  ;  hut  Righteousness  and  Truth  are 
the  habitation  of  His  throne.  "  My  soul,  hope  thou 
in  God ;  for  I  shall  yet  praise  Him,  who  is  the  health 
of  my  countenance  and  my  God." 

2.  This  hope  was  in  God. 

The  mistake  we  make  is  to  look  for  a  source  of  com- 
fort in  ourselves :  self-contemplation,  instead  of  gazing 
upon  God.  In  other  words,  we  look  for  comfort  pre- 
cisely where  comfort  never  can  be. 

For,  first,  it  is  impossible  to  derive  consolation  from 
our  own  feelings,  because  of  their  mutability :  to-day 
we  are  well,  and  our  spiritual  experience,  partaking  of 
these  circumstances,  is  bright;  but  to-morrow  somo 
outward  circumstances  change,  —  the  sun  does  not 
shine,  or  the  wind  is  chill,  —  and  we  are  low,  gloomy, 
and  sad.  Then,  if  our  hopes  were  unreasonably  ele- 
vated, they  will  now  be  unreasonably  depressed ;  and 
so  our  experience  becomes  flux  and  reflux,  ebb  and 
flow,  like  the  sea,  that  emblem  of  instability. 

Next,  it  is  impossible  to  get  comfort  from  our  own 
acts ;  for,  though  acts  are  the  test  of  character,  yet  in 
a  low  state  no  man  can  judge  justly  of  his  own  acts. 
They  assume  a  darkness  of  hue  which  is  reflected  on 
them  by  the  eye  that  contemplates  them.  It  would  be 
well  for  all  men  to  remember  that  sinners  cannot  judge 
of  sin,  —  least  of  all  can  we  estimate  our  own  sin. 

Besides,  we  lose  time  in  remorse.  I  have  sinned. — 
Well  —  by  the  grace  of  God  I  must  endeavor  to  do 
better  for  the  future.  But  if  I  mourn  for  it  overmuch, 
all  to-day,  refusing  to  bo  comforted,  to-morrow  I  shall 
have  to  mourn  the  wasted  to-day ;  and  that  again  will 
be  the  subject  of  another  fit  of  remorse. 


148  RELIGIOUS   DEPRESSION. 

In  the  wilderness,  had  the  children  of  Israel,  instead 
of  gazing  on  the  serpent,  looked  down  on  their  own 
wounds,  to  watch  the  process  of  the  granulation  of 
the  flesh,  and  see  how  deep  the  wound  was,  and 
whether  it  was  healing  slowly  or  fast,  cure  would  have 
been  impossible :  their  only  chance  was  to  look  off  the 
wounds.  Just  so,  when,  giving  up  this  hopeless  and 
sickening  work  of  sell- inspection,  and  turning  from 
ourselves  in  Christian  self-oblivion,  we  gaze  on  God, 
then  first  the  chance  of  consolation  dawns.  • 

He  is  not  affected  by  our  mutability ;  our  changes 
do  not  alter  Him.  When  we  are  restless.  He  remains 
serene  and  calm ;  when  we  are  low,  selfish,  mean,  or 
dispirited.  He  is  still  the  unalterable  I  AM  —  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever,  in  whom  is  no  variable- 
ness, neither  shadow  of  turning.  What  God  is  in 
Himself —  not  what  we  may  chance  to  feel  Him  in  this 
or  that  moment  to  be  —  that  is  our  hope.  "  My  soul, 
hope  thou  in  God" 


X. 

[Preached  April  6,  1851.] 

FAITH    OF    THE    CENTURION. 

Matt.  viii.  10.  — '*  When  Jesus  heard  it,  he  marvelled,  and  said  to  them 
that  followed.  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  I  have  not  found  so  great  faith, 
no,  not  in  Israel." 

That  upon  which  the  Son  of  God  fastened  as  wor- 
thy of  admiration  was  not  the  centurion's  benevolence, 
nor  his  perseverance,  but  his  faith.  And  so  speaks 
the  whole  New  Testament,  giving  a  special  dignity  to 
faith.  By  faith  we  are  justified.  By  faith  man  re- 
moves mountains  of  difficulty.  As  the  Divinest  attri- 
bute in  the  heart  of  God  is  Love,  and  the  mightiest, 
because  the  most  human,  principle  in  the  breast  of 
man  is  Faith,  Love  is  heaven,  Faith  is  that  which 
appropriates  heaven. 

Faith  is  a  theological  term,  rarely  used  in  other 
matters.  Hence  its  meaning  is  obscured.  But  faith 
is  no  strange,  new,  peculiar  power,  supernaturally 
infused  by  Christianity ;  but  the  same  principle  by 
which  we  live  from  day  to  day  —  one  of  the  common- 
est in  our  daily  life. 

We  trust  our  senses;  and  that  though  they  often 

deceive  us.     We  trust  men ;  a  battle"  must  often  be 

risked  on  the  intelligence  of  a  spy.     A  merchant  com- 
13*  (149) 


150  FAITH   OF   THE   CENTURION. 

mits  his  sliips,  with  all  his  fortunes  on  board,  to  a  hired 
captain,  whose  temptations  are  enormous.  Without 
this  principle  society  could  not  hold  together  for  a  day. 
It  would  be  a  sand-heap. 

Such,  too,  is  religious  faith.  "We  trust  on  probabili- 
ties ;  and  this  though  probabilities  often  are  against 
us.  We  cannot  prove  God's  existence.  The  balance 
of  probabilities,  scientifically  speaking,  are  nearly 
equal  for  a  living  Person  or  a  lifeless  Cause ;  Immor- 
tality, &c.,  in  the  same  way.  But  Faith  throws  its 
own  convictions  into  the  scale,  and  decides  the  pre- 
ponderance. 

Faith,  then,  is  that  which,  when  probabilities  are 
equal,  ventures  on  God's  side  and  on  the  side  of  right, 
on  the  guarantee  of  a  something  within  which  makes 
the  thing  seem  true  because  loved. 

So  defined  by  St.  Paul :  "  Faith  is  the  substance  of 
things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  unseen."  The 
hope  is  the  ground. 

I.  The  faith  which  was  commended. 

II.  The  causes  of  the  commendation. 

I.  The  faith  which  was  commended. 

1.  Evidence  of  its  existence :  his  tenderness  to  his 
servant. 

Of  course  this  good  act  might  have  existed  separate 
from  religion.  Romans  were  benevolent  to  their  do- 
mestics ages  before  this  law  had  been  enacted  regu- 
lating the  relationship  between  patron  and  client. 

But  we  are  forbidden  to  view  it  so,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  he  was  a  proselyte.  Morality  is  not  religion, 
Imt  it  is  ennobled  and  made  more  delicate  by  religion. 

How  ?     By  instinct  you  may  be  kind  to  dependants. 


FAITH    OF    THE    CENTUEION.  151 

But,  if  it  be  only  by  instinct,  it  is  but  the  same  kind 
of  tenderness  you  show  to  your  hound  or  horse.  Dis- 
behef  in  God.  and  Right,  and  Immortahty,  degrades 
the  man  you  are  kind  to,  to  the  level  of  the  beast  you 
feel  for.  Both  are  mortal,  and  for  both  your  kindness 
is  finite  and  poor. 

But  the  moment  Faith  comes,  dealing  as  it  does  with 
things  infinite,  it  throws  something  of  its  own  infini- 
tude on  the  persons  loved  by  the  man  of  faith,  upon 
his  affections  and  his  acts,  —  it  raises  them. 

Consequently  you  find  the  centurion  "  building  Syn- 
agogues," "  caring  for  our  (that  is,  the  Jewish)  nation," 
as  the  Repository  of  the  Truth,  —  tending  his  ser- 
vants. And  this  last,  observe,  approximated  his  moral 
goodness  to  the  Christian  standard  ;  for  therein  does 
Christianity  difier  from  mere  religiousness,  that  it  is 
not  a  worship  of  the  high,  but  a  lifting  up  of  the  low, 
—  not  hero-worship,  but  Divine  condescension. 

Thus,  then,  was  his  kindliness  an  evidence  of  hia 
faith. 

2,  His  humility :  "  Lord,  I  am  not  worthy  that  Thou 
shouldest  come  under  my  roof" 

Now,  Christ  does  not  call  this  humility,  though  it 
was  humility.  He  says,  I  have  not  found  so  great 
faith.  Let  us  see  why.  How  is  humbleness  the  result 
of,  or  rather  identical  with.  Faith? 

Faith  is  trust.  Trust  is  dependence  on  another, — • 
the  spirit  which  is  opposite  to  independence,  or  trust 
in  self  Hence,  where  the  spirit  of  proud  independ- 
ence is,  faith  is  not. 

Now,  observe  how  this  differs  from  our  ordinary  and 
modern  modes  of  thinking.  The  first  thing  taught  a 
young  man  is  that  he  must  be  independent.     Quito 


152  FAITH   OF  THE   CENTUEION. 

right,  in  the  Christian  sense  of  the  word,  to  owe  no 
man  anything ;  to  resolve  to  get  his  own  hving,  and 
not  be  beholden  to  charity,  which  fosters  idleness  ;  to 
depend  on  his  own  exertions,  and  not  on  patronage  or 
connection.  But  what  is  commonly  meant  by  inde- 
pendence is  to  rejoice  at  being  bound  by  no  ties  to 
other  human  beings ;  to  owe  no  allegiance  to  any  will 
except  our  own ;  to  be  isolated  and  unconnected  by 
any  feeling  of  intercommunion  or  dependence  ;  a  spirit 
whose  very  life  is  jealousy  and  suspicion;  which  in 
politics  is  revolutionism,  and  in  religion  atheism.  This 
is  the  opposite  of  Christianity,  and  the  opposite  of  the 
Christian  freedom  whose  name  it  usurps.  For  true 
freedom  is  to  be  emancipated  from  all  false  lords,  in 
order  to  owe  allegiance  to  all  true  lords  ;  to  be  "free 
from  the  slavery  of  all  lusts,  so  as  voluntarily  to  serve 
God  and  Right.     Faith  alone  frees. 

And  this  was  the  freedom  of  the  Centurion  —  that 
he  chose  his  master.  He  was  not  fawning  on  the  Em- 
peror at  Rome ;  nor  courting  the  immoral  ruler  at  Cces- 
area,  who  had  titles  and  places  to  give  away ;  but  he 
bent  in  lowliest  homage  of  heart  before  the  Holy  One. 
His  freedom  was  the  freedom  of  uncoerced  and  vol- 
untary dependence,  —  the  fi-eedom  and  humility  of 
Faith. 

3.  His  belief  in  an  invisible,  living  will.  "Speak 
the  word  only."  Remark  how  different  this  is  from  a 
reliance  on  the  influence  of  the  senses.  He  asked  not 
the  presence  of  Christ,  but  simply  an  exertion  of  his 
will.  He  looked  not,  hke  a  physician,  to  the  operation 
of  unerring  laws,  or  the  result  of  the  contact  of  mat- 
ter with  matter.  He  believed  in  Him  who  is  the  Life 
indeed.     He  felt  that  the  Cause  of  Causes  is  a  Person. 


FAITH    OF   THE    CENTURION.  153 

Hence  he  could  trust  the  living  Will  out  of  sight. 
This  is  the  highest  form  of  faith. 

Here,  however,  I  observe : 

The  Centurion  learned  this  through  his  own  profes- 
sion. "  I  am  a  man  under  authority,  having  soldiers 
under  me."  The  argument  ran  thus :  I,  by  the  com- 
mand of  will,  obtain  the  obedience  of  my  dependants  ; 
thcu,  by  will,  the  obedience  of  thine ;  sickness  and 
health  are  thy  servants. 

Evidently  he  looked  upon  this  universe  with  a  sol- 
dier's eye  ;  he  could  not  look  otherwise.  To  him  this 
world  was  a  mighty  camp  of  Living  Forces  in  which 
authority  was  paramount.  Trained  in  obedience  to 
military  law,  accustomed  to  render  prompt  submission 
to  those  above  him,  and  to  exact  it  from  those  below 
him,  he  read  Law  everywhere ;  and  law  to  him  meant 
nothing,  unless  it  meant  the  expression  of  a  Personal 
Will.  It  was  this  training  through  which  Faith  took 
its  form. 

The  Apostle  Paul  tells  us  that  the  invisible  things  of 
God  from  the  Creation  of  the  world  are  clearly  seen ; 
and,  we  may  add,  from  every  part  of  the  creation  of 
the  world,  "  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God  ; " 
but  so  also  does  the  buttercup  and  the  raindrop. 

The  invisible  things  of  God  from  life  are  clearly 
seen;  and,  we  may  add,  from  every  department  of  life. 
There  is  no  profession,  no  trade,  no  human  occu- 
pation, which  does  not  in  its  own  way  educate  for 
God. 

The  soldier,  through  Law,  read  a  personal  will ;  and 
he  might,  from  the  same  profession,  in  the  unity  of  ah 
army,  made  a  living  and  organized  unity  by  the  vari- 
ety of  its  parts,  have  read  the  principle  of  God's  and 


154  FAITH   OF   THE   CENTUEION. 

the  Church's  unity,  through  the  opportunities  that  pro- 
fession affords  for  self-contrjol,  for  generous  deeds. 
"When  the  Gospel  was  first  announced  on  earth,  it  was 
proclaimed  to  the  shepherds  and  Magians  in  a  manner 
appropriate  to  their  modes  of  life. 

Shepherds,  like  sailors,  are  accustomed  to  hear  a 
supernatural  Power  in  the  sounds  of  the  air,  in  tne 
moaning  of  the  night-winds,  in  the  sighing  of  the 
storm ;  to  see  a  more  than  mortal  life  in  the  clouds 
that  wreathe  around  the  headland.  Such  men,  brought 
up  among  the  sights  and  sounds  of  nature,  are  pro- 
verbially superstitious.  No  wonder,  therefore,  that 
the  intimation  came  to  them,  as  it  were,  on  the  winds 
in  the  melodies  of  the  air :  "  a  multitude  of  the  heav- 
enly host  praising  God,  and  saying,  Glory  to  God  in 
the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good-will  toward 
men." 

But  the  Magians,  being  astrologers,  accustomed  to 
read  the  secrets  of  Life  and  Death  in  the  clear  starlit 
skies  of  Persia,  are  conducted  by  a  meteor. 

Each  in  his  own  way ;  each  in  his  own  profession ; 
each  through  that  little  spot  of  the  universe  given  to 
him.  For  not  only  is  God  everywhere,  but  all  of  God 
is  in  every  point.  Not  His  wisdom  here,  and  His  good- 
ness there;  the  whole  truth  may  be  read,  if  we  had 
ej^es,  and  heart,  and  time  enough,  in  the  laws  of  a 
daisy's  growth.  God's  Beauty,  His  Love,  His  LTnity  ; 
nay,  if  you  observe  how  each  atom  exists,  not  for  itself 
alone,  but  for  the  sake  of  every  other  atom  in  the  uni- 
verse, in  that  atom  or  daisy  you  may  read  the  law  of 
the  Cross  itself  The  crawling  of  a  beetle  before  now 
has  taught  perseverance,  and  led  to  a  crown.  The 
little  moss,  brought  close  to  a  traveller's  eye  in  an 


FAITH    OF   THE    CENTURION.  155 

African  desert,  who  had  lain  down  to  die,  roused  him 
to  faith  in  that  Love  whitjh  had  so  curiously  arranged 
the  minute  fibres  of  a  thing  so  small,  to  be  seen  once 
and  but  once  by  a  human  eye,  and  carried  him,  like 
Elijah  of  old,  in  the  strength  of  that  heavenly  repast, 
a  journey  of  forty  days  and  forty  nights  to  the  sources 
of  the  Nile ;  yet  who  could  have  suspected  divinity  in 
a  jeetle,  or  theology  in  a  moss  ? 

II.  The  causes  of  the  astonishment. 
The  reasons  why  he  marvelled  may  be  reduced  un- 
der two  heads. 

1.  The  Centurion  was  a  Gentile;  therefore  unlikely 
to  know  revealed  truth. 

2.  A  soldier,  and  therefore  exposed  to  recklessness, 
and  idleness,  and  sensuality,  which  are  the  temptations 
of  that  profession.  But  he  turned  his  loss  to  glorious 
gain. 

The  Saviour's  comment,  therefore,  contained  the 
advantage  of  disadvantages,  and  the  disadvantages  of 
advantages.  The  former,  "  Many  shall  come  from  the 
east  and  the  west,  and  shall  sit  down  with  Abraham, 
and  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  The 
latter,  "  The  children  of  the  kingdom  shall  be  cast  out 
into  outer  darkness ;  there  shall  be  weeping  and  gnash- 
ing of  teeth." 

There  are  spirits  which  are  crushed  by  difficulties  ; 
others  would  gain  strength  from  them.  The  greatest 
men  have  been  those  who  have  cut  their  way  to  success 
through  difficulties.  And  such  have  been  the  greatest 
triumphs  of  art  and  science ;  such  too  of  religion. 
Moses,  Elijah,  Abraham,  the  Baptist,  the  giants  of  both 
Testaments,  were  not  men  nurtured  in  the  hothouse  of 


156  FAITH    OF    THE    CENTUEIOlN. 

religious  advantages.  Many  a  man  would  have  done 
good  if  be  had  not  a  superabundance  of  the  means  of 
doing  it.  Many  a  spiritual  giant  is  buried  under  moun- 
tains of  gold. 

Understand,  therefore,  the  real  amount  of  advantage 
which  there  is  in  religious  privileges.  Necessary, 
especially  for  the  feeble,  as  crutches  are  necessary ; 
but,  like  crutches,  they  often  enfeeble  the  strong.  For 
every  advantage  which  facilitates  performance  and 
supersedes  toil,  a  corresponding  price  is  paid  in  loss. 
Civilization  gives  us  telescopes  and  microscopes ;  but 
it  takes  away  the  unerring  acuteness  with  which  the 
savage  reads  the  track  of  man  and  beast  upon  the 
ground  at  his  feet ;  it  gives  us  scientific  surgery,  and 
impairs  the  health  which  made  surgery  superfluous. 

So,  ask  you  where  the  place  of  religious  might  is  ? 
Not^  the  place  of  religious  privileges,  —  not  where 
prayers  are  daily,  and  sacraments  monthly,  —  not 
where  sermons  are  so  abundant  as  to  pall  upon  the 
pampered  taste ;  but  on  the  hill-side  with  the  Cove- 
nanter ;  in  the  wilderness  with  John  the  Baptist ;  in 
our  own  dependencies  where  the  liturgy  is  rarely 
heard,  and  Christian  friends  meet  at  the  end  of  months ; 
there,  amidst  manifold  disadvantages,  when  the  soul  is 
thrown  upon  itself,  a  few  kindred  spirits,  and  God, 
grow  up  those  heroes  of  faith,  like  the  Centurion, 
whose  firm  conviction  wins  admiration  even  from  the 
Son  of  God  Himself 

Lastly,  See  how  this  incident  testifies  to  the  perfect 
Humanity  of  Christ,  The  Saviour  "  marvelled ;  "  that 
wonder  was  no  fictitious  semblance  of  admiration. 
It  was  real  genuine  wonder.  He  had  not  expected  to 
find  such  faith.     The  Son  of  God  increased  in  wisdom 


FAITH    OF   THE   CENTURION.  157 

as  well  as  stature.  He  knew  more  at  thirty  than  at 
twenty.  There  were  things  He  knew  at  twenty  which 
He  had  not  known  before.  In  the  last  year  of  His  life, 
He  went  to  the  fig-tree  expecting  to  find  fruit,  and  was 
disappointed.  In  all  matters  of  Eternal  truth  —  prin- 
ciples, which  are  not  measured  by  more  or  less  true  — 
His  knowledge  was  absolute ;  but  it  would  seem  that 
in  matters  of  earthly  fact,  which  are  modified  by  time 
and  space,  His  knowledge  was  like  ours,  more  or  less 
dependent  upon  experience. 

Now,  we  forget  this, — we  are  shocked  at  the  thought 
of  the  partial  ignorance  of  Christ,  as  if  it  were  irrev- 
erence to  think  it ;  we  shrink  from  believing  that  He 
really  felt  the  force  of  temptation,  or  that  the  For- 
sakenness on  the  Cross  and  the  momentary  doubt  have 
parallels  in  our  human  life.  In  other  word.s,  we  make 
that  Divine  Life  a  mere  mimic  representation  of  griefs 
that  were  not  real,  and  surprises  that  were  feigned, 
and  sorrows  that  were  theatrical. 

But  thus  we  lose  the  Saviour.  For  it  is  well  to 
know  that  He  was  Divine ;  still,  if  we  loae  that  truth, 
we  should  still  have  a  God  in  heaven.  But  if  there 
has  been  on  this  earth  no  real,  perfect  human  life,  no 
Love  that  never  cooled,  no  Faith  that  never  failed, 
which  may  shine  as  a  loadstar  across  the  darkness  of 
our  experience,  a  Light  to  light  amidst  all  convictions 
of  our  own  meanness  and  all  suspicions  of  others'  little- 
ness, —  why,  we  may  have  a  Religion,  but  we  have  not 
a  Christianity.  For,  if  we  lose  Him  as  a  Brother,  we 
cannot  feel  Him  as  a  Saviour. 
U 


XI. 

[Preached  July  27,  1851.] 

THE    RESTORATION    OF   THE    ERRING. 

Gal.  vi.  1,  2.  —  "  Brethren,  if  a  man  be  overtaken  in  a  fault,  ye  which 
are  spiritual  restore  such  an  one  in  the  spirit  of  meekness  ;  consid- 
ering thyself,  lest  thou  also  be  tempted.  Bear  ye  one  another's  bur- 
dens, and  so  fulfil  the  law  of  Christ." 

It  would  be  a  blessed  thing  for  our  Christian 
society  if  we  could  contemplate  sin  from  the  same 
point  of  view  from  which  Christ  and  His  apostles 
saw  it.  But  in  this  matter  society  is  ever  oscillat- 
ing between  two  extremes  —  undue  laxity  and  undue 
severity. 

In  one  age  of  the  Church,  —  the  days  of  Donatism, 
for  instance, — men  refuse  the  grace  of  repentance  to 
those  who  have  erred;  holding  that  baptismal  privi- 
leges once  forfeited  cannot  be  got  back  —  that  for  a 
single  distinct  lapse  there  is  no  restoration. 

In  another  age,  the  Church,  having  found  out  its 
error,  and  discovered  the  danger  of  setting  up  an 
impossible  standard,  begins  to  confer  periodical  absolu- 
tions and  plenary  indulgences,  until  sin,  easily  forgiven, 
is  as  easily  committed. 

And  so  too  with  societies  and  legislatures.  In  one 
period   puritanism   is    dominant,    and   morals   severe. 

(158) 


THE   RESTORATION   OF  THE   ERRING.  159 

There  are  no  small  faults.  The  statute-book  is  defiled 
with  the  red  mark  of  blood,  set  opposite  innumerable 
misdemeanors.  In  an  age  still  earlier,  the  destruc- 
tioti  of  a  wild  animal  is  punished  like  the  murder 
of  a  man.  Then,  in  another  period,  we  have  such  a 
medley  of  sentiments  and  sickliness  that  we  have  lost 
al  our  bearings,  and  cannot  tell  what  is  vice  and  what 
is  goodness.  Charity  and  toleration  degenerate  into 
that  feeble  dreaminess  which  refuses  to  be  roused  by 
stern  views  of  life. 

This  contrast,  too,  may  exist  in  the  same  age, 
nay,  in  the  same  individual.  One  man  gifted  with 
talent,  or  privileged  by  rank,  outrages  all  decency  : 
the  world  smiles,  calls  it  eccentricity,  forgives,  and 
is  very  merciful  and  tolerant.  Then,  some  one,  un- 
shielded by  these  advantages,  indorsed  neither  by 
wealth  nor  birth,  sins,  —  not  to  one-tenth,  nor  one  ten- 
thousandth  part  of  the  same  extent :  society  is  seized 
with  a  virtuous  indignation  ■ —  rises  up  in  wrath  — 
asks  what  is  to  become  of  the  morals  of  the  com- 
munity if  these  things  are  committed;  and  protects 
its  proprietors  by  a  rigorous  exclusion  of  the  offender, 
cutting  off  the  bridge  behind  him  against  his  return 
forever. 

Now,  the  Divine  Character  of  the  New  Testament, 
is  shown  in  nothing  more  signally  than  in  the  stable 
ground  from  which  it  views  this  matter,  in  compari- 
son with  the  shifting  and  uncertain  standing-point 
from  whence  the  world  sees  it.  It  says,  never  retract- 
ing nor  bating,  "  The  wages  of  sin  is  death."  It 
speaks  sternly,  with  no  weak  sentiment,  "  Go  and  sin 
no  more,  lest  a  worse  thing  happen  unto  thee."  But, 
then  it  accepts  every  excuse,  admits  every  palliation  j 


160  THE   RESTORATION   OF  THE  ERRING. 

looks  uf  on  this  world  of  temptation  and  these  frail 
human  hearts  of  ours,  not  from  the  cell  of  a  monk,  or 
the  study  of  a  recluse,  but  in  a  large,  real  way ;  accepts 
the  existence  of  sin  as  a  fact,  without  affecting  to  "be 
shocked  or  startled;  assumes  that  it  must  needs  be 
that  offences  come,  and  deals  with  them  in  a  large, 
noble  way,  as  the  results  of  a  disease  which  must  be 
met,  should  be  cured,  and  can. 

I.  The  Christian  view  of  other  men's  sins. 

II.  The  Christian  power  of  restoration. 

1.  The  first  thing  noticeable  in  the  apostle's  view  of 
sin  is,  that  he  looks  upon  it  as  if  it  might  be  sometimes 
the  result  of  a  surprise  —  "  If  a  man  be  overtaken  in 
a  fault."  In  the  original,  anticipated,  taken  suddenly 
in  front.  As  if  circumstances  had  been  beforehand 
with  the  man ;  as  if  sin,  supposed  to  be  left  far  behind, 
had  on  a  sudden  got  in  front,  tripped  him  up,  or  led 
him  into  ambush. 

All  sins  are  not  of  this  character.  There  are  some 
which  are  in  accordance  with  the  general  bent  of  our 
disposition  ;  and  the  opportunity  of  committing  them 
was  only  the  first  occasion  for  manifesting  what  was 
in  the  heart ;  so  that,  if  they  had  not  been  committed 
then,  they  probably  would  or  must  have  been  at  some 
oiher  time,  and  looking  back  to  them  we  have  no  right 
tc  lay  the  blame  on  circumstances,  —  we  are  to  accept 
the  penalty  as  a  severe  warning  meant  to  show  what 
was  in  our  hearts. 

There  are  other  sins,  of  a  different  character.  It 
seems  as  if  it  were  not  in  us  to  commit  them.  They 
were,  so  to  speak,  unnatural  to  us.  You  were  goin^ 
quietly  on  your  way,  thinking  no  evil :  suddenly  tempt 


THE   RESTORATION   OP  THE  ERRING.  161 

ation,  for  which  you  were  not  prepared,  presented 
itself,  and,  before  you  knew  where  you  were,  you  were 
in  the  dust,  fallen. 

As,  for  instance,  when  a  question  is  suddenly  put  to 
a  man  which  never  ought  to  have  been  put,  touching 
a  secret  of  his  own  or  another's.  Had  he  the  pres- 
ence of  mind  or  adroitness,  he  might  turn  it  aside,  or 
refuse  to  reply.  But,  being  unprepared  and  accosted 
suddenly,  he  says  hastily  that  which  is  irreconcilable 
with  strict  truth ;  then,  to  substantiate  and  make  it 
look  probable,  misrepresents  or  invents  something  else; 
and  so  he  has  woven  round  himself  a  mesh  which  will 
entangle  his  conscience  through  many  a  weary  day  and 
many  a  sleepless  night. 

It  is  shocking,  doubtless,  to  allow  ourselves  even  to 
admit  that  this  is  possible  ;  yet  no  one  knowing  human 
nature  from  men,  and  not  from  books,  will  deny  that 
this  might  befall  even  a  brave  and  true  man.  St.  Peter 
was  both  ;  yet  this  was  his  history.  In  a  crowd,  sud- 
denly, the  question  was  put  directly. — "This  man  also 
was  with  Jesus  of  Nazareth."  Then  a  prevarication  — • 
a  lie  ;  and  yet  another.  This  was  a  sin  of  surprise.  He 
was  overtaken  in  a  fault. 

Every  one  of  us  admits  the  truth  of  this  in  his  own 
case.  Looking  back  to  past  life,  he  feels  that  the 
errors  which  have  most  terribly  determined  his  des- 
tiny were  the  result  of  mistake.  Inexperience,  a  hasty 
promise,  excess  of  trust,  incaution,  nay,  even  a  gener- 
ous devotion,  have  been  fearfully,  and,  as  it  seems 
to  us,  inadequately  chastised.  There  may  be  some 
undue  tenderness  to  ourselves  when  we  thus  palhate 
the  past ;  still,  a  great  part  of  such  extenuation  is  only 

justice. 

14* 


1()2  THE  RESTORATION   OP  THE  ERRING. 

Now  the  Bible  simply  requires  that  we  should 
judge  others  by  the  same  rule  by  which  we  judge 
ourselves.  The  law  of  Christ  demands  that  what  we 
J  lead  in  our  own  case,  we  should  admit  in  the  case  of 
others.  Believe  that  in  this  or  that  case,  which  you 
judge  so  harshly,  the  heart  in  its  deeps  did  not  con- 
sent to  sin,  nor  by  preference  love  what  is  hateful ; 
simply  admit  that  such  an  one  may  have  been  over- 
taken in  a  fault.     This  is  the  large  law  of  Charity. 

1.  Again,  the  apostle  considers  fault  as  that  which 
has  left  a  burden  on  the  erring  spirit.  "  Bear  ye  one 
another's  burdens." 

For  we  cannot  say  to  the  laws  of  God,  I  was  over- 
taken. We  live  under  stern  and  unrelenting  laws, 
which  permit  no  excuse  and  never  hear  of  a  surprise. 
They  never  send  a  man  who  has  failed  once  back  to 
try  a  second  chance.  There  is  no  room  for  a  mistake.- 
You  play  against  them  for  your  life,  and  they  exact 
the  penalty  inexorably :  "  Every  man  must  bear  his 
own  burden."  Every  law  has  its  own  appropriate 
penalty ;  and  the  wonder  of  it  is  that  often  the  sever- 
est penalty  seems  set  against  the  smallest  transgres- 
sion ;  we  suffer  more  for  our  vices  than  our  crimes ; 
we  pay  dearer  for  our  imprudences  than  even  for  our 
deliberate  wickedness. 

Let  us  examine  this  a  little  more  closely.  One  bur- 
den laid  on  fault  is  that  chain  of  entanglement  which 
seems  to  drag  down  to  fresh  sins.  One  step  necessi- 
tates many  others.  One  fault  leads  to  another;  and 
crime  to  crime.  The  soul  gravitates  downward 
beneath  its  burden.  It  was  profound  knowledge 
indeed  which  prophetically  refused  to   limit  Peter's 


THE  EESTORATION  OP  THE  ERRING.       163 

sin  to  once.    "  Yerily  I  say  unto  thee  ....  thou  shalt 
deny  Me  thrice." 

We  will  try  to  describe  that  sense  of  burden.  A 
fault  has  the  power  sometimes  of  distorting  life  till  all 
seems  hideous  and  unnatural.  A  man  who  has  left  his 
proper  nature,  and  seems  compelled  to  say  and  do 
things  unnatural  and  in  false  show,  who  has  thus 
become  untrue  to  himself,  —  to  him  life  and  the  whole  . 
universe  becomes  untrue.  He  can  grasp  nothing,  he 
does  not  stand  on  fact,  —  he  is  living  as  in  a  dream,  — ■ 
himself  a  dream.  All  is  ghastly,  unreal,  spectral.  A 
burden  is  on  him  as  of  a  nightmare.  He  moves  about 
in  nothingness  and  shadows  as  if  he  were  not.  His 
own  existence  swiftly  passing  might  seem  a  phantom 
life,  were  it  not  for  the  corroding  pang  of  anguish  in 
his  soul ;  for  that,  at  least,  is  real ! 

2.  Add  to  this,  the  burden  of  the  heart  weighing  on 
itself. 

It  has  been  truly  said  that  the  human  heart  is  like 
the  millstone,  which,  if  there  be  wheat  beneath  it,  will 
grind  to  purposes  of  health ;  if  not,  will  grind  still,  at 
the  will  of  the  wild  wind,  but  on  itself  So  does  the 
heart  wear  out  itself  against  its  own  thought.  One 
fixed  idea,  —  one  remembrance,  and  no  other,  —  one 
stationary,  wearing  anguish.  This  is  remorse,  passing 
into  despair;  itself  the  goad  to  fresh  and  wilder 
crimes. 

The  worst  of  such  a  burden  is,  that  it  keeps  down 
the  soul  from  good. 

Many  an  ethereal  spirit,  which  might  have  climbed 
the  heights  of  holiness,  and  breathed  the  rare  and 
difficult  air  of  the  mountain-top,  where  the  heavenliest 
spirituality  alone  can  live,  is  weighed  down  by  such 


164:  THE   RESTORATION   OF  THE  ERRING. 

a  burden  to  the  level  of  the  lowest.  If  you  know 
such  an  one,  mark  his  history,  —  without  restoration; 
his  career  is  done.  That  soul  will  not  grow  hence- 
forth. 

3.  The  burden  of  a  secret. 

Some  here  know  the  weight  of  an  uncommunicated 
sin.  They  know  how  it  lies  like  ice  upon  the  heart. 
They  know  how  dreadful  a  thing  the  sense  of  hypoc- 
risy is ;  the  knowledge  of  inward  depravity,  while  all 
without  looks  pure  as  snow  to  men. 

How  heavy  this  weight  may  be,  we  gather  from 
these  indications.  First,  from  this  strange  psychologi- 
cal fact :  A  man  with  a  guilty  secret  will  tell  out  the 
tale  of  his  crimes  as  under  the  personality  of  another  j 
a  mysterious  necessity  seems  to  force  him  to  give  it 
utterance.  As  in  the  old  fable  of  him  who  breathed 
out  his  weighty  secret  to  the  reeds:  a  remarkable 
instance  of  this  is  afforded  in  the  case  of  that  mur- 
derer, who,  from  the  richness  of  his  gifts  and  the 
enormity  of  his  crime,  is  almost  a  historical  personage, 
who,  having  become  a  teacher  of  youth,  was  in  the 
habit  of  narrating  to  his  pupils  the  anecdote  of  his 
crime,  with  all  the  circumstantial  particularity  of  fact ; 
but,  all  the  while,  under  the  guise  of  a  pretended 
dream.  Such  men  tread  forever  on  the  very  verge 
of  a  confession ;  they  seem  to  take  a  fearful  pleasure 
in  talking  of  the  guilt, — as  if  the  heart  could  not  bear 
its  own  burden,  but  must  give  it  outness. 

Again,  it  is  evidenced  by  the  attempt  to  get  relief 
in  profuse  and  general  acknowledgments  of  guilt. 
They  adopt  the  language  of  religion ;  they  call  them- 
selves vile  dust  and  miserable  sinners.  The  world 
takes   generally   what  they   mean    particularly.     But 


THE  RESTOEATION  OF  THE  BERING.       165 

they  get  no  relief — they  only  deceive  themselves ;  for 
they  have  turned  the  truth  itself  into  a  falsehood, 
using  true  words  which  they  know  convey  a  false  im- 
pression, and  getting  praiso  for  humility  instead  of 
punishment  for  guilt.  They  have  used  all  the  effort, 
and  suffered  all  the  pang,  which  it  would  have  cost 
them  to  got  real  relief;  and  they  have  not  got  it,  and 
ihe  burden  unacknowledged  remains  a  burden  still. 

The  third  indication  we  have  of  the  heaviness  of 
this  burden  is  the  commonness  of  the  longing  for  con- 
fession. None  but  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  can  esti- 
mate this ;  he  only,  who,  looking  round  his  congrega- 
tion, can  point  to  person  after  person  whose  wild  tale 
of  guilt  or  sorrow  he  is  cognizant  of;  who  can  remem- 
ber how  often  similar  griefs  were  trembling  upon  lips 
which  did  not  unburden  themselves ;  whose  heart, 
being  the  receptacle  of  the  anguish  of  many,  can 
judge  what  is  in  human  hearts;  —  he  alone  can  estimate 
how  much  there  is  of  sin  and  crime  lying  with  the 
weight  and  agony  of  concealment  on  the  spirits  of  our 
brethren. 

Burden  4.  —  An  intuitive  consciousness  of  the  hid- 
den sins  of  others'  hearts. 

To  two  states  of  soul  it  is  given  to  detect  the  pres- 
ence of  evil;  8t<ites  the  opposite  of  each  other  — 
innocence  and  guilt. 

It  was  predicted  of  the  Saviour  while  yet  a  child, 
that  by  Him  the  thoughts  of  many  hearts  should  be 
revealed.  The  fulfilment  of  this  was  the  history  of  his 
life.  He  went  through  the  world,  by  His  innate 
purity,  detecting  the  presence  of  evil,  as  He  detected 
the  touch  of  her  who  touched  His  garment  in  the 
crowd. 


166  THE   RESTOEATION   OP  THE   ERRING. 

Men,  supposed  spotless  before,  fell  down  before  nim, 
crying,  "  Depart  from  me,  for  I  am  a  sinful  man,  0 
Lord  !  "  This  in  a  lower  degree  is  true  all  innocence. 
You  would  think  that  one  who  can  deeply  read  the 
human  heart  and  track  its  windings  must  be  him 
Belf  deeply  experienced  in  evil.  But  it  is  not  so ;  at 
least,  not  always.  Purity  can  detect  the  presence  of 
the  evil  which  it  does  not  understand,  just  as  the  dove, 
which  has  never  seen  a  hawk,  trembles  at  its  pres- 
ence ;  and  just  as  a  horse  rears  uneasily  when  the  wild 
beast  unknown  and  new  is  near,  so  innocence  under- 
stands, yet  understands  not  the  meaning  of  the  unholy 
look,  the  guilty  tone,  the  sinful  manner.  It  shudders 
and  shrinks  from  it,  by  a  power  given  to  it  like  that 
which  God  has  conferred  on  the  unreasoning  mimosa. 
Sin  gives  the  same  power ;  but  differently.  Innocence 
apprehends  the  approach  of  evil,  by  the  instinctive  tact 
of  contrast;  guilt,  by  the  instinctive  consciousness 
of  similarity.  It  is  the  profound  truth  contained  in 
the  history  of  the  Fall.  The  eyes  are  opened ;  the 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil  has  come.  The  soul 
knows  its  own  nakedness ;  but  it  knows  also  the  naked- 
ness of  all  other  souls  which  have  sinned  after  the 
similitude  of  its  own  sin. 

Very  marvellous  is  that  test-power  of  guilt ;  it  is  vain 
1o  think  of  eluding  its  fine  capacity  of  penetration. 
Intimations  of  evil  are  perceived  and  noted,  when  to 
other  eyes  aU  seems  pure.  The  dropping  of  an  eye, 
the  shunning  of  a  subject,  the  tremulousness  of  a 
tone,  the  peculiarity  of  a  subterfuge,  will  tell  the 
tale.  These  are  tendencies  like  mine,  and  there  is  a 
spirit  conscious  as  my  own  is  conscious. 

This  dreadful  burden  the  Scriptures  call  the  know!- 


THE  EESTORATION   OF   THE   ERRING.  167 

edge  of  good  and  evil.  Can  we  not  all  remember  the 
salient  sense  of  happiness  which  we  had  when  all 
was  innocent  —  when  crime  was  the  tale  of  some  far 
distant  hemisphere,  and  the  guilt  we  heard  of  was  not 
suspected  in  the  hearts  of  the  beings  around  us  ?  And 
can  we  not  recollect,  too,  how  by  our  own  sin,  or  the 
cognizance  of  others'  sin,  there  came  a  something 
which  hung  the  heavens  with  shame  and  guilt,  and 
all  around  seemed  laden  with  evil  ?  This  is  the  worst 
burden  that  comes  from  transgression :  loss  of  faith  in 
human  goodness ;  the  being  sentenced  to  go  through 
life  haunted  with  a  presence  from  which  we  cannot 
escape ;  the  presence  of  Evil  in  the  hearts  of  all  that 
we  approach. 

II.  The  Christian  power  of  restoration :  "  Ye  which 
are  spiritual,  restore  such  an  one." 

First,  then,  restoration  is  possible.  That  is  a  Chris- 
tian fact.  Moralists  have  taught  us  what  sin  is ;  they 
have  explained  how  it  twines  itself  into  habit;  they 
have  shown  us  its  inelFaceable  character.  It  was 
reserved  for  Christianity  to  speak  of  restoration. 
Christ,  and  Christ  only,  has  revealed  that  he  who  has 
erred  may  be  restored,  and  made  pure  and  clean  and 
whole  again. 

Next,  however,  observe  that  this  restoration  is  ac- 
complished by  men.  Causatively,  of  course,  and  im- 
mediately, restoration  is  the  work  of  Christ  and  of 
God  the  Spirit.  Mediately  and  instrumentally,  it  is 
the  work  of  men.  "  Brethren,  ....  restore  such  an 
one."  God  has  given  to  man  the  power  of  elevating 
his  brother-man.  He  has  conferred  on  His  Church 
the  power  of  the  keys  to  bind  and  loose.     "  Whoseso-. 


168  THE   RESTORATION   OP   THE   ERRING. 

ever  sins  ye  remit,  they  are  remitted ;  and  whosesoever 
sins  ye  retain,  they  are  retained."  It  is,  therefore,  in 
the  power  of  man,  by  his  conduct,  to  restore  his 
brother,  or  to  hinder  his  restoration.  He  may  loose 
him  from  his  sins,  or  retain  their  power  upon  his 
soul. 

Now,  the  words  of  the  text  confine  us  to  two  modes 
in  which  this  is  done :  by  sympathy,  and  by  forgive- 
ness.    "  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens." 

1.  Sympathy.  We  Protestants  have  one  unvarying 
sneer  ready  for  the  system  of  the  Romish  confessional. 
They  confess,  we  say,  for  the  sake  of  absolution,  that 
absolved  they  may  sin  again.  A  shallow,  superficial 
sneer,  as  all  sneers  are.  In  that  craving  of  the  heart 
which  gives  the  system  of  the  Confessional  its  dan- 
gerous power,  there  is  something  far  more  profound 
than  any  sneer  can  fathom.  It  is  not  the  desire  to 
sin  again  that  makes  men  long  to  unburden  their 
consciences  ;  but  it  is  the  yearning  to  be  true,  which 
lies  at  the  bottom  even  of  the  most  depraved  hearts, 
—  to  appear  what  they  are,  and  to  lead  a  false  life  no 
longer ;  and,  besides,  the  desire  of  sympathy.  For 
this  comes  out  of  that  dreadful  sense  of  loneliness 
which  is  the  result  of  sinning :  the  heart  severed  from 
God  feels  severed  from  all  other  hearts ;  goes  alone, 
as  if  it  had  neither  part  nor  lot  with  other  men,  itself 
a  shadow  among  shadows.  And  its  craving  is  for  s}Tn- 
pathy ;  it  wants  some  human  heart  to  know  what  it 
feels.  Thousands  upon  thousands  of  laden  hearts 
around  us  are  crying.  Come  and  bear  my  burden  with 
me  ;  and  observe  here,  the  apostle  says,  "  Bear  ye  one 
another's  burdens."  Nor  let  the  priest  bear  the  bur- 
dens of  all :  that  were  most  unjust.     Why  should  the 


THE    RESTORATION   OF    THE  -ERRING.  169 

priest's  heart  be  the  couimon  receptacle  of  all  the 
crimes  and  wickedness  of  a  congregation  ?  "  Bear  ye 
one  another''s  burdens." 

2.  By  forgivingness.  There  is  a  truth  in  the  doc- 
trine of  absolution.  God  has  given  to  man  the  power 
to  absolve  his  brother,  and  so  restore  him  to  Himself. 
The  forgiveness  of  man  is  an  echo  and  an  earnest  of 
God's  forgiveness.  He  whom  society  has  restored 
realizes  the  possibility  of  restoration  to  God's  favor. 
Even  the  mercifulness  of  one  good  man  sounds  like  a 
voice  of  pardon  from  heaven ;  just  as  the  power  and 
the  exclusion  of  men  sound  like  a  knell  of  hopeless- 
ness, and  do  actually  bind  the  sin  upon  the  soul.  The 
man  whom  society  will  not  forgive  nor  restore  is 
driven  into  recklessness.  This  is  the  true  Christian 
doctrine  of  absolution,  as  expounded  ,by  the  Apostle 
Paul,  2  Cor.  ii.  7-10.  The  degrading  power  of  sever- 
ity, the  restoring  power  of  pardon,  vested  in  the  Chris- 
tian community,  the  voice  of  the  minister  being  but 
the  voice  of  them. 

Now,  then,  let  us  inquire  into  the  Christianity  of  our 
society.  Restoration  is  the  essential  work  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  Gospel  is  the  declaration  of  God's  sym- 
pathy and  God's  pardon.  In  these  two  particulars, 
then,  Avhat  is  our  right  to  be  called  a  Christian  com- 
munity ? 

Suppose  that  a  man  is  overtaken  in  a  fault.  What 
does  he  or  what  shall  he  do  ?  Shall  he  retain  it  un- 
acknowledged, and  go  through  life  a  false  man?  God 
forbid !  Shall  he  then  acknowledge  it  to  his  brethren, 
that  they  by  sympathy  and  merciful  caution  may  re- 
store him?  Well,  but  is  it  not  certain  that  it  is  ex- 
actly from  those  to  whom  the  name  of  brethren  met 
15 


170  THE   RE'sTORATION   OF   THE   ERRING. 

peculiarly  belongs  that  he  will  not  receive  assistance  ? 
Can  a  man  in  mental  doubt  go  to  the  members  of  the 
same  religious  communion,  or  does  he  not  know  that 
they  precisely  are  the  ones  who  will  frown  upon  his 
doubts,  and  proclaim' his  sins?  Or,  will  a  clergyman 
unburden  his  mind  to  his  brethren  in  the  ministry  ? 
Are  they  not,  in  their  official  rigor,  the  least  capable 
of  largely  understanding  him?  If  a  woman  be  over- 
taken in  a  fault,  will  shfe  tell  it  to  a  sister-woman  ?  Or, 
does  she  not  feel,  instinctively,  that  her  sister-woman 
is  ever  the  most  harsh,  the  most  severe,  and  the  most 
ferocious  judge  ? 

Well,  you  sneer  at  the  confessional ;  you  complain 
that  mistaken  ministers  .of  the  Church  of  England  are 
restoring  it  amongst  us.  But  who  are  they  that  are 
forcing  on  the  confessional?  Who  drive  laden  and 
broken  hearts  to  pour  out  their  long  pent-up  sorrows 
into  any  ear  that  will  receive  them  ?  I  say  it  is  we  : 
we,  by  our  uncharitableness ;  we,  by  our  want  of  sym- 
pathy and  unmerciful  behavior ;  we,  by  the  unchris- 
tian way  in  which  we  break  down  the  bridge  behind 
the  penitent,  and  say.  On,  on  in  sin,  —  there  is  no 
returning. 

Finally,  the  apostle  tells  the  spirit  in  which  this  is  to 
be  done,  and  assigns  a  motive  for  the  doing  it.  The 
mode  is  "  in  the  spirit  of  meekness."  For  Satan  can- 
not cast  out  Satan  ;  sin  cannot  drive  out  sin.  For 
instance,  my  anger  cannot  drive  out  another  man's 
covetousness ;  my  petulance  or  sneer  cannot  expel 
another's  extravagance.  The  meekness  of  Christ  alone 
has  power.  The  charity  which  desires  another's  good- 
ness above  his  well-being  —  that  alone  succeeds  in  the 
work  of  restoration. 


THE   EESTOKATION   OF   THE   ERRING.  171 

The  motive  is,  "  considering  thyself,  lest  thou  also 
be  tempted."  For  sin  is  the  result  of  inclination,  or 
weakness,  combined  with  opportunity.  It  is,  there- 
fore, in  a  degree,  the  offspring  of  circumstances.  Go 
to  the  hulks,  the  jail,  the  penitentiary,  the  penal  col- 
ony, —  statistics  wiU  ahnost  mark  out  for  you  before- 
hand the  classes  which  have  furnished  the  inmates, 
and  the  exact  proportion  of  the  delinquency  of  each 
class.  You  will  not  find  the  wealthy  there,  nor  tlie 
noble,  nor  those  guarded  by  the  fences  of  social  life ; 
but  the  poor,  and  the  uneducated,  and  the  frail,  and  the 
defenceless.  Can  you  gravely  surmise  that  this  reg- 
ular tabulation  depends  upon  the  superior  virtue  of 
one  class,  compared  with  others  ?  Or,  must  you  admit 
that  the  majority,  at  least,  of  those  who  have  not  fallen^ 
are  safe  because  they  were  not  tempted?  Well,  then, 
when  St.  Paul  says,  "  considering  thyself,  lest  thou 
also  be  tempted,"  it  is  as  if  he  had  written :  Proud 
Pharisee  of  a  man,  complacent  in  thine  integrity,  who 
thankest  God  that  thou  art  not  as  other  men  are,  ex- 
tortioners, unjust,  &c.,  hast  thou  gone  through  the 
terrible  ordeal,  and  come  off  with  unscathed  virtue  ? 
Or,  art  thou  ih  all  these  points  simply  untried  ?  Proud 
Pharisee  of  a  woman,  who  passest  by  an  erring  sister 
with  a  haughty  look  of  conscious  superiority,  dost 
thou  know  what  temptation  is,  with  strong  feeling  and 
mastering  opportunity?  Shall  the  rich-cut  crystal 
which  stands  on  the  table  of  the  wealthy  man,  pro- 
tected from  dust  and  injury,  boast  that  it  has  escaped 
the  flaws,  and  the  cracks,  and  the  fractures,  which  the 
earthen  jar  has  sustained,  exposed  and  subjected  to 
rough  and  general  uses  ?  0  man  or  woman !  thou 
who  wouldst  be  a  Pharisee,  consider,  0,  "  consider  thy 
eelf,  lest  thou  also  be  tempted." 


XII. 

fPreached  Christmas  Day,  1851.] 

CHRIST    THE    SON. 

Heb.  i.  1.  —  •'  God,  who  at  sundry  times,  and  in  divers  manners,  spake 
in  time  past  unto  the  fathers  by  the  prophets,  hath  in  these  last  days 
spoken  unto  us  by  his  Son." 

Two  critical  remarks. 

1.  "  Sundry^  times,  "  —  more  literally,  sundry  por- 
tions, sections  —  not  of  time,  but  of  the  matter  of  the 
revelation.  God  gave  His  revelation  in  parts,  piece- 
meal, as  you  teach  a  child  to  spell  a  word,  —  letter  by 
letter,  syllable  by  syllable, —  adding  all  at  last  together. 
God  had  a  Word  to  spell — His  own  Name.  By  degrees 
He  did  it.  At  last  it  came  entire.  The  Word  was 
made  Flesh. 

2.  "  His  Son,  "  —  more  correctly,  "  a  Son  "  —  for  this 
is  the  very  argument.  Not  that  God  now  spoke  by 
Christ,  but  that,  whereas  once  by  prophets,  now  by  a 
Son.     The  filial  dispensation  was  the  last. 

This  epistle  was  addressed  to  Christians  on  the 
verge  of  apostasy.  See  those  passages:  "It  is  impos- 
sible for  those  who  were  once  enlightened,  and  have 
tasted  of  the  heavenly  gift,  and  were  made  partakers 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  have  tasted  the  good  word  of 
God,  and  the  powers  of  the  world  to  come,  if  they 
shall  fall  away,  to  renew  them  again  unto  repentance ; 

(172) 


CHEIST   THE   SOIT.  173 

seeing  they  crucify  to  themselves  the  Son  of  God 
afresh,  and  put  Him  to  an  open  shame."  — "  Cast  not 
away  your  confidence." — "  We  are  made  partakers  of 
Christ,  if  we  hold  the  beginning  of  our  confidence 
•steadfast  unto  the  end." 

Observe  what  the  danger  was.  Christianity  had 
disappointed  them,  —  they  had  not  found  in  it  the  rest 
they  anticipated.  They  looked  back  to  the  Judaism 
they  had  left,  and  saw  a  splendid  temple-service,  a 
Kne  of  priests,  a  visible  temple  witnessing  of  God'a 
presence,  a  religion  which  was  unquestionably  fer- 
tile in  prophets  and  martyrs.  They  saw  these  preten- 
sions, and  wavered. 

But  this  was  all  on  the  eve  of  dissolution.  The  Jew- 
ish earth  and  heavens  —  that  is,  the  Jewish  Common- 
wealth and  Church  —  were  doomed,  and  about  to  pass 
away.  The  writer  of  this  epistle  felt  that  their  hour 
was  come,  —  see  chap.  xii.  26,  27,  —  and  if  their  re- 
ligion rested  on  nothing  better  than  this,  he  knew  that 
in  the  crash  religion  itself  would  go.  To  return  to 
Judaism  was  to  go  down  to  atheism  and  despair. 

Reason  alleged — they  had  contented  themselves 
with  a  superficial  view  of  Christianity ;  they  had  not 
seen  how  it  was  interwoven  with  all  their  own  history, 
and  how  it  alone  explained  that  history. 

Therefore  in  this  epistle  the  writer  labors  to  show 
that  Christianity  was  the  fulfilment  of  the  Idea  latent 
in  Judaism ;  that  from  the  earliest  times  and  in  every 
institution,  it  was  implied.  In  the  monarchy,  in 
prophets,  in  sabbath-days,  in  psalms,  in  the  priest- 
hood,  and  in  temple-services,  Christianity  lay  cou' 
cealed ;  and  the  dispensation  of  a  Son  was  the  realiza. 
tion  of  what  else  was  shadows.  He,  therefore,  alone, 
16» 


174     •  CHRIST   THE    SON. 

who  adhered  to  Christ,  was  the  true  Jew,  and  to  apos- 
tatize  from  Christianitj  was  really  to  apostatize  from 
true  Judaism. 

I  am  to  show,  then,  that  the  manifestation  of  God 
through  a  Son  was  implied,  not  realized,  in  the  earlier, 
dispensation. 

"  Sundry  portions  "  of  this  Truth  are  instanced  in 
the  epistle.  The  mediatorial  dispensation  of  Moses  — 
the  gift  of  Canaan  —  the  Sabbath,  &c.  At  present  I 
select  these : 

T.  The  preparatory  Dispensation. 

II.  The  filial  and  final  Dispensation. 

I.  Implied,  not  fulfilled,  in  the  kingly  office.  Three 
Psalms  are  quoted,  all  referring  to  kingship.  In  Psalm 
2d,  it  was  plain  that  the  true  idea  of  a  king  was  only 
fulfilled  in  one  who  was  a  Son  of  God.  The  Jewish 
king  was  king  only  so  far  as  he  held  from  God ;  as  His 
image,  the  representative  of  the  Fountain  of  Law  and 
Majesty. 

"  To  Him  God  hath  said,  Thou  art  my  Son,  this 
day  have  I  begotten  Thee." 

The  45th  Psalm  is  a  bridal  hymn,  composed  on  the 
marriage  of  a  Jewish  king.  Startling  language  is 
addressed  to  him.  He  is  called  God,  Lord.  —  "  Thy 
throne,  0  God,  is  for  ever  and  ever."  The  bride  is 
invited  to  worship  him  as  it  were  a  God :  —  "  He  is  thy 
Lord,  and  worship  thou  him."  No  one  is  surprised  at 
this  who  remembers  that  Moses  was  said  to  be  made  a 
God  to  Aaron.  Yet  it  is  startling,  almost  blasphemous, 
unless  there  be  a  deeper  meaning  implied  —  the  divine 
character  of  the  real  king. 

In  the  110th  Psalm  a  new  idea  is  added.     The  true 


CHRIST   THE   SON.  ITS 

king  must  be  a  priest.  —  "  Thou  art  a  priest  forever, 
after  the  order  of  Melchizedek."  This  was  addressed 
to  the  Jewish  king ;  but  it  implied  that  the  ideal  king, 
of  which  he  was  for  the  time  the  representative,  more 
or  less  truly,  is  one  who  at  the  same  time  sustains  the 
highest  religious  character  and  the  highest  executive 
authority. 

Again,  David  was  emphatically  the  type  of  the 
Jewish  regal  idea.  David  is  scarcely  a  personage,  so 
entirely  does  he  pass  in  Jewish  forms  of  thought  into 
an  ideal  Sovereign,  — - "  the  sure  mercies  of  David." 
David  is  the  name  therefore  for  the  David  which  was 
to  be.  Now,  David  was  a  wanderer,  kingly  still,  ruling 
men  and  gaining  adherents  by  force  of  inward  royalty. 
Thus  in  the  Jewish  mind  the  kingly  oflSce  disengaged 
itself  from  outward  pomp  and  hereditary  right,  as  mere 
accidents,  and  became  a  personal  reality.  The  king 
was  an  idea. 

Further  still.  The  epistle  extends  this  idea  to  man. 
The  psalm  had  ascribed  (Ps.  viii.  6)  kingly  qualities  and 
rule  to  manhood  —  rule  over  the  creation.  Thus  the 
idea  of  a  king  belonged  properly  to  humanity ;  to  the 
Jewish  king,  as  the  representative  of  humanity. 

Yet  even  in  collective  humanity  the  royal  character 
is  not  realized.  —  "  We  see  not,"  says  the  epistle,  "  all 
things  as  yet  put  under  him"  —  man. 

Collect,  then,  these  notions.  The  true  king  of  men 
is  a  Son  of  God ;  one  who  is  to  his  fellow-men  God 
and  Lord,  as  the  Jewish  bride  was  to  feel  her  royal 
husband  to  be  to  her ;  one  who  is  a  priest ;  one  who 
may  be  poor  and  exiled,  yet  not  less  royal. 

Say,  then,  whence  is  this  idea  fulfilled  by  Judaism? 
To  which  of  the  Jewish  kings  can  it  be  applied,  except 


176  CHRIST   THE   SON. 

with  infinite  exaggeration?  To  David?  Why,  the 
Redeemer  shows  the  insuperable  difficulty  of  this.  — 
"  How,  then,  doth  David  in  spirit  call  him,"  —  that  is. 
the  king  of  whom  he  was  writing,  —  "  Lord,  saying.  The 
Lord  said  unto  my  Lord,  Sit  thou  on  ray  right  hand, 
until  I  make  thy  enemies  thy  footstool  ?  " 

David,  writing  of  himself,  yet  speaks  there  in  tho 
third  person,  projecting  himself  outward  as  an  object 
of  contemplation,  an  idea. 

Is  it  fulfilled  in  the  human  race  ?  — "  We  see  not 
yet  all  things  put  under  him."  Then  the  writer  goes 
on  : —  "  But  we  see  Jesus,  who  was  made  a  little  lower 
than  the  angels  for  the  sufiering  of  death,  crowned  with 
glory  and  honor ;  that  He  by  the  grace  of  God  should 
taste  death  for  every  man."  In  Jesus  of  Nazareth 
alone  all  these  fragments,  these  sundry  portions  of  the 
revealed  Idea  of  Royalty,  met. 

11.  Christianity  was  implied  in  the  race  of  prophets. 

The  second  class  of  quotations  refer  to  the  prophets' 
life  and  history.  (Heb.  ii.  11—14.)  Psalm  xxii.  22  ; 
Psalm  xviii.  2 ;  Isaiah  xii.  2  ;  Isaiah  viii.  18. 

Remember  what  the  prophets  were.  They  were  not 
merely  predictors  of  the  future.  Nothing  destroys 
the  true  conception  of  the  prophets'  office  more  than 
those  popular  books  in  which  their  mission  is  certified 
by  curious  coincidences.  For  example,  if  it  is  pre- 
dicted that  Babylon  shall  be  a  desolation,  the  haunt 
of  wild  beasts,  &c.,  then  some  traveller  has  seen  a  lion 
standing  on  Birs  Nimroud ;  or,  if  the  fisherman  is  to 
dry  his  nets  on  Tyre,  simply  expressing  its  destruction 
thereby,  the  commentator  is  not  easy  till  he  finds  that 
a  net  has  been  actually  seen  drying  on  a  rock.     But 


CHRIST   THE  SON.  177 

this  is  to  degrade  the  prophetic  office  to  a  level  with 
Egyptian  palmistry ;  to  make  the  prophet  like  an 
astrologer,  or  a  gypsy  fortune-teller,  —  one  who  can 
predict  destinies  and  draw  horoscopes.  But,  in  truth, 
the  first  office  of  the  prophet  was  with  the  present. 
He  read  Eternal  Principles  beneath  the  present  and 
the  transitory ;  and  in  doing  this,  of  course,  he  proph 
esied  the  future  —  for  a  principle  true  to-day  is  true  for- 
ever. But  this  was,  so  to  speak,  an  accident  of  his 
office  —  not  its  essential  feature.  If,  for  instance,  he 
read  in  the  voluptuousness  of  Babylon  the  secret  of 
Babylon's  decay,  he  also  read  by  anticipation  the 
doom  of  Corinth,  London,  all  cities  in  Babylon's  state  j 
or,  if  Jerusalem's  fall  was  predicted,  in  it  all  such  judg- 
ment-comings were  foreseen ;  and  the  language  is  true 
of  the  fall  of  the  world,  as  truly,  or  more  so,  than 
that  of  Jerusalem.  A  philosopher  saying  in  the  pres- 
ent tense  the  law  by  which  comets  move,  predicts  all 
possible  cometary  movements. 

Now,  the  prophet's  life  almost  more  than  his  words 
was  predictive.  The  writer  of  the  epistle  lays  down 
a  great  principle  respecting  the  prophet  (ii.  11):  — 
"  Both  he  that  sanctifieth  and  they  who  are  sanctified 
•^-re  all  of  one."  It  was  the  very  condition  of  his  inspi- 
ration that  he  should  be  one  with  the  people.  So  far 
from  making  him  superhuman,  it  made  him  more  man. 
He  felt  with  more  exquisite  sensitiveness  all  that  be- 
longs to  man,  else  he  could  not  have  been  a  prophet. 
His  insight  into  things  was  the  result  of  that  very 
weakness,  sensitiveness,  and  susceptibility,  so  trem- 
blingly alive.  He  burned  with  their  thoughts,  and 
expressed  them.  He  was  obliged  by  the  very  sensi- 
tiveness   of    his    humanity    to    have    a   more    entire 


178  CHRIST   THE   SON. 

dependence  and  a  more  perfect  sympathy  than  othef 
men.  The  sanctifying  prophet  was  one  with  those 
whom  he  sanctified.  Hence  he  uses  those  expressions 
quoted  from  Isaiah  and  the  Psalms  above. 

He  was  more  man,  just  because  more  divine,  — 
more  a  son  of  man,  because  more  a  Son  of  God.  He 
was  pecuharly  the  suffering  Israelite ;  his  counte- 
nance marred  more  than  the  sons  of  men.  Hence,  we 
are  told  the  prophets  searched  "  what,  or  what  manner 
of  time,  the  Spirit  of  Christ  which  was  in  them  did 
signify,  when  it  testified  beforehand  the  suflferings 
of  Christ,  and  the  glory  that  should  follow."     (1  Peter 

Observe,  it  was  a  spirit  in  them,  their  own  lives  wit- 
nessing mysteriously  of  what  the  Perfect  Humanity 
must  be  suffering. 

Thus,  especially,  Isaiah  liii.,  spoken  originally  of  the 
Jewish  nation ;  of  the  prophet  as  peculiarly  the  Israel- 
ite ;  no  wonder  the  eunuch  asked  Philip,  in  perplexity, 
"  Of  whom  doth  the  prophet  say  this?  —  of  himself,  or 
some  other  man  ?  "  The  truth  is,  he  said  it  of  himself, 
but  prophetically  of  humanity ;  true  of  him,  most  true 
of  the  Highest  Humanity. 

Here,  then,  was  a  new  "  portion  "  of  the  revelation. 
The  prophet  rebuked  the  king,  often  opposed  the 
priest,  but  was  one  with  the  people.  "  He  that  sane- 
tifieth  and  they  who  are  sanctified  are  all  of  one.'' 

If,  then.  One  had  come  claiming  to  be  the  Prophet 
of  the  Race,  and  was  a  Sufferer,  claiming  to  be  the  Son 
of  God,  and  yet  peculiarly  man ;  the  son  of  man ;  the 
son  of  man  just  because  the  Son  of  God  ;  more  Divine 
because  more  human;  —  then  this  was  only  what  the 
whole  race  of  Jewish  prophets  should  have  prepared 


CHRIST   THE    SON.  179 

them  for.  God  had  spoken  by  the  prophets.  That 
God  had  now  spoken  by  a  Son  in  whom  the  idea  of 
the  True  prophet  was  reaHzed  in  its  entireness. 

III.  The  Priesthood  continued  this  idea  latent.  The 
writer  saw  three  elements  in  the  priestly  idea.  1.  That 
he  should  be  ordained  for  men  in  things  pertaining  to 
God.  2.  That  he  should  offer  gifts  and  sacrifices. 
3.  That  he  should  be  called  by  God,  not  be  a  mere  self- 
assertor. 

1.  Ordained  for  men.  Remark  here  the  true  idea 
contained  in  Judaism,  and  its  difference  from  the 
Heathen  notions.  In  Heathenism  the  priest  was  of  a 
different  Race  ;  separate  from  his  fellows.  In  Judaism 
he  was  ordained  for  men ;  their  representative ;  con- 
stituted in  their  behalf  The  Jewish  priest  represented 
the  holiness  of  the  nation ;  he  went  into  the  holy  of 
holies,  showing  it.  But  this  great  idea  was  only  im- 
plied, not  fulfilled,  in  the  Jewish  priest.  He  "was  only 
by  a  fiction  the  representative  of  holiness.  Holy  he 
was  not.  He  only  entered  into  a  fictitious  holy  of 
holies.  If  the  idea  were  to  be  ever  real,  it  must  be  in 
One  who  should  be  actually  what  the  Jewish  priest 
was  by  a  figment,  and  who  should  carry  out  humanity 
into  the  real  Holy  of  Holies,  —  the  presence  of  God ; 
thus  becoming  our  invisible  and  Eternal  Priest. 

Next,  it  was  implied  that  his  call  must  be  Divine. 
But  (in  the  110th  Psalm)  a  higher  call  is  intimated 
than  that  Divine  call  which  was  made  to  the  Aaronic 
priesthood  by  a  regular  succession,  or,  as  it  is  called 
in  the  epistle,  "  the  law  of  a  carnal  commandment." 
Melchizedeck's  call  is  spoken  of  The  king  is  called  a 
priest  after  his   order.     Not  a  derived  or  hereditary 


180  ■     CHRIST    THE    SON. 

priesthood ;  not  one  transmissible,  beginning  and  end- 
ing  in  himself,  —  Heb.  vii.  1  to  3.  A  priesthood,  in 
other  words,  of  character,  of  inward  right;  a  call  in- 
ternal, hence  more  Divine ;  or,  as  the  writer  calls  it,  a 
priest  "after  the  power  of  an  endless  life."  This  was 
the  Idea  for  which  the  Jewish  psalms  themselves  ought 
to  have  prepared  the  Jew. 

2.  Again,  the  priests  oflFered  gifts  and  sacrifices. 
Distinguish.  Gifts  were  thank-ofi"e rings  ;  first-fruits  of 
harvest,  vintage,  &c.,  a  man's  best ;  testimonials  of  in- 
finite gratefulness,  and  expressions  of  it.  But  sacrifices 
were  dififerent :  they  implied  a  sense  of  unworthiness ; 
that  sense  which  conflicts  with  the  idea  of  any  right  to 
offer  gifts. 

Now,  the  Jewish  Scriptures  themselves  had  ex- 
plained this  subject,  and  this  instinctive  feeling  of 
unworthiness  for  which  sacrifice  found  an  expression. 
Prophets  and  Psalmists  had  felt  that  no  sacrifice  was 
perfect  which  did  not  reach  the  conscience  (Ps.  li.  16, 
17),  for  instance;  also,  Heb.  x.  8  to  12.  No  language 
could  more  clearly  show  that  the  spiritual  Jew  discerned 
that  entire  surrender  to  the  Divine  Will  is  the  only  per- 
fect Sacrifice,  the  ground  of  all  sacrifices,  and  that 
which  alone  imparts  to  it  a  significance.     Not  sacrifice 

"  Then  said  I,  Lo,  I  come  to  do  Thy  will,  0  God." 

That  is  the  sacrifice  which  God  wills. 

I  say  it  firmly  —  all  other  notions  of  sacrifice  are 
false.  Whatsoever  introduces  the  conception  of  vin- 
dictiveness  or  retaliation ;  whatever  speaks  of  appeas- 
ing fury ;  whatever  estimates  the  value  of  the  Saviour's 
sacrifice  by  the  "  penalty  paid ;  "  whatever  difi'ers  from 
these   notions    of  sacrifice  contained   in   psalms   and 


CHRIST   THE    SON.  181 

prophets,  —  is  borrowed  from  the  bloody  shambles  of 
Heathenism,  and  not  from  Jewish  altars. 

3.  This  alone  makes  the  worshipper  perfect  as  per- 
taining to  the  conscience.  He  who  can  offer  it  in  its 
entireness,  He  alone  is  the  world's  Atonement ;  He  in 
whose  heart  the  Law  was,  and  who  alone  of  all  man- 
kind was  content  to  do  it,  His  Sacrifice  alone  can  be 
the  Sacrifice  all-sufficient  in  the  Father's  sight  as  the 
proper  Sacrifice  of  humanity;  He  who  through  the 
Eternal  Spirit  offered  himself  without  spot  to  God,  He 
alone  can  give  the  Spirit  which  enables  us  to  present 
our  bodies  a  living  sacrifice,  holy  and  acceptable  to 
God. 

He  is  the  only  High  Priest  of  the  Universe. 
16 


XIII. 

[Preached  April  25,  1852.] 

WORLDLINESS. 

1  John  ii.  15-17.  —  "If  any  man  love  the  world,  the  love  of  the  Father 
is  not  in  him.  For  all  that  is  in  the  world,  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  and 
the  lust  of  the  eyes,  and  the  pride  of  life,  is  not  of  the  Father,  but  is 
of  the  world.  And  the  world  passeth  away,  and  the  lust  thereof ;  but 
he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  forever." 

Religion  differs  from  morality  in  the  value  which  it 
places  on  the  affections.  Morality  requires  that  an  act 
be  done  on  principle.  Religion  goes  deeper,  and 
inquires  the  state  of  the  heart.  The  Church  of  Ephe- 
sus  was  unsuspected  in  her  orthodoxy,  and  unblem- 
ished in  her  zeal ;  but  to  the  ear  of  him  who  saw  the 
apocalyptic  vision,  a  voice  spake,  "  I  have  somewhat 
against  thee,  in  that  thou  hast  left  thy  first  love." 

In  the  eye  of  Christianity  he  is  a  Christian  who 
loves  the  Father.  He  who  loves  the  world  may  be  in 
his  way  a  good  man,  respecting  whose  eternal  destiny 
we  pronounce  no  opinion ;  but  one  of  the  Children  of 
the  Kingdom  he  is  not. 

Now,  the  boundary-lines  of  the  love  of  this  world, 
or  worldliness,  are  exceedingly  difficult  to  define. 
Bigotry  pronounces  many  things  wrong  which  are 
harmless ;  laxity  permits  many  which  are  by  no  means 

C182) 


WORLDLINESS.  183 

innocent ;  and  it  is  a  question  perpetually  put,  a  ques- 
tion miserably  perplexing  to  those  whose  religion 
consists  more  in  avoiding  that  which  is  wrong  than 
in  seeking  that  which  is  right,  —  what  is  Worldli- 
ness? 

To  that  question  we  desire  to  find  to-day  an  answer 
in  the  text ;  premising  this,  that  our  object  is  to  put 
ourselves  in  possession  of  principles.  For  otherwise 
we  shall  only  deal  with  this  matter  as  empirics  ;  con- 
demning this  and  approving  that  by  opinion,  but  on 
no  certain  and  intelligible  ground ;  we  shall  but  float 
on  the  unstable  sea  of  opinion. 

We  confine  ourselves  to  two  points. 

I.  The  nature  of  the  forbidden  world. 

II.  The  reasons  for  which  it  is  forbidden. 

I.  The  nature  of  the  forbidden  world. 

The  first  idea  suggested  by  "  the  world "  is  this 
green  earth,  with  its  days  and  nights,  its  seasons,  its 
hills  and  its  valleys,  its  clouds  and  brightness.  This  is 
not  the  world  the  love  of  which  is  prohibited  ;  for,  to 
forbid  the  love  of  this  would  be  to  forbid  the  love  of 
God. 

There  are  three  ways  in  which  "we  learn  to  know 
Him.  First,  by  the  working  of  our  minds.  Love,  Jus- 
tice,Tenderness —  if  we  would  know  what  they  mean 
in  God,  we  must  gain  the  conception  from  their  exist- 
ence in  ourselves.  But,  inasmuch  as  humanity  is 
imperfect  in  us,  if  we  were  to  learn  of  God  only  from 
His  image  in  ourselves,  we  should  run  the  risk  of 
calling  the  evil  good,  and  the  imperfect  divine.  There- 
fore, IIu  has  given  us,  besides  this,  the  representatioa 
of  Himself  in  Christ,  where  is  found  the  meeting-point 


184  WORLDLINESS. 

of  the  Divine  and  the  human,  and  in  whose  Life  the 
character  of  Deity  is  reflected  as  completelj;  as  the 
sun  is  seen  in  the  depth  of  the  still,  untroubled  lake. 

But  there  is  a  third  way,  still,  in  which  we  attain  the 
idea  of  God.  This  world  is  but  manifested  Deity,  — 
God  shown  to  the  eye,  and  ear,  and  sense.  This  strange 
phenomenon  of  a  world,  —  what  is  it?  All  we  know  of 
it — all  we  know  of  matter  —  is,  that  it  is  an  assem- 
blage of  Powers  which  produce  in  us  certain  sensations; 
but  what  those  Powers  are  in  themselves  we  know 
not.  The  sensation  of  color,  form,  weight,  we  have  ; 
but  what  it  is  which  gives  those  sensations,  —  in  the 
language  of  the  schools,  what  is  the  Substratum  which 
supports  the  accidents  or  qualities  of  Being, —  we 
cannot  tell.  Speculative  Philosophy  replies,  It  is  but 
our  own  selves  becoming  conscious  of  themselves. 
We,  in  our  own  being,  are  the  cause  of  all  phe- 
nomena. Positive  Philosophy  replies.  What  the  Being 
of  the  world  is  we  cannot  tell ;  we  only  know  what  it 
seems  to  us.  Phenomena  —  appearance — beyond  this 
we  cannot  reach.  Being  itself  is,  and  forever  must 
be,  unknowable.  Religion  replies.  That  something  is 
God.  The  world  is  but  manifested  Deity.  That 
which  lies  beneath  the  surface  of  all  Appearance,  the 
cause  of  all  Manifestation,  is  God.  So  that  to  f(»rbid 
the  love  of  all  this  world,  is  to  forbid  the  love  of  that 
by  'uhich  God  is  known  to  us.  The  sounds  and  sights 
of  this  lovely  world  are  but  the  drapery  of  the  robe 
in  which  the  Invisible  has  clothed  Himself.  Does  a 
man  ask  what  this  world  is,  and  Avhy  man  is  placed  in 
it  ?  It  was  that  the  invisible  things  of  Him  from  the 
creation  of  the  world  might  be  clearly  seen.  Have  we 
ever  stood  beneath  the  solemn  vault  of  heaven,  when 


WORLDLINESS.  185 

the  stars  were  looking  down  in  their  silent  splendor^ 
and  not  felt  an  overpowering  sense  of  His  eternity  ? 
When  the  Avhite  lightning  has  quivered  in  the  sky,  has 
that  told  us  nothing  of  Power,  or  only  something  of 
electricity  ?  Rocks  and  mountains,  are  they  here  to 
give  us  the  idea  of  material  massiveness,  or  to  reveal 
the  conception  of  the  Strength  of  Israel  ?  When  we 
take  up  the  page  of  past  history,  and  read  that  wrong 
never  prospered  long,  but  that  nations  have  drunk,  one 
after  another,  the  cup  of  terrible  retribution,  can  we 
dismiss  all  that  as  the  philosophy  of  history,  or  shall 
we  say,  that  through  blood,  and  war,  and  desolation, 
we  trace  the  footsteps  of  a  presiding  God,  and  find 
evidence  that  there  sits  at  the  helm  of  this  world's 
affairs  a  strict,  and  rigorous,  and  most  terrible  justice? 
To  the  eye  that  can  see,  to  the  heart  that  is  not 
paralyzed,  God  is  here.  The  warnings  which  the 
Bible  utters  against  the  things  of  this  world  bring  no 
charge  against  the  glorious  world  itself.  The  world 
is  the  glass  through  which  we  see  the  Maker.  But 
what  men  do  is  this :  they  put  the  dull  quicksilver  of 
their  own  selfishness  behind  the  glass,  and  so  it  be- 
comes not  the  transparent  medium  through  which  God 
shines,  but  the  dead  opaque  which  reflects  back  them- 
selves. Instead  of  lying  with  open  eye  and  heart  to 
receive,  we  project  ourselves  upon  the  world  and  give. 
So  it  gives  us  back  our  own  false  feelings  and  nature. 
Therefore  it  brings  forth  thorns  and  thistles.  There- 
fore it  grows  weeds,  —  weeds  to  us.  Therefore  the 
lightning  burns  with  wrath,  and  the  thunder  mutters 
vengeance.  By  all  which  it  comes  to  pass  that  the 
very  Manifestation  of  God  has  transformed  itself, — 
the  lust  of  the  flesh,  and  the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the 
1G» 


186 


WOELDLINESS. 


pride  of  life  ;  and  all  that  is  in  the  world  is  no  longer 
of  the  Father,  but  is  of  the  world. 

By  the  world,  again,  is  sometimes  meant  the  men 
that  are  in  the  world.  And  thus  the  command  would 
run,  —  Love  not  men,  but  love  God.  It  has  been  so 
read.  The  Pharisees  read  it  so,  of  old.  The  property 
which  natural  affection  demanded  for  the  support  of 
parents,  upon  that  they  wrote  "  Corban,"  —  a  gift  foi 
God, —  and  robbed  men  that  they  might  give  to-  God. 
Yet  no  less  than  this  is  done  whenever  human  affec- 
tion is  called  idolatry.  As  if  God  were  jealous  of  our 
love,  in  the  human  sense  of  jealousy.  As  if  we  could 
love  God  the  more  by  loving  man  the  less.  As  if  it 
were  not  by  loving  our  brother,  whom  we  have  seen, 
that  we  approximate  towards  the  love  of  God,  whom 
we  have  not  seen.  This  is  but  the  cloak  for  narrow- 
ness of  heart.  Men  of  withered  affections  excuse  their 
lovelessness  by  talking  largely  of  the  affection  due  to 
God.  Yet,  like  the  Pharisees,  the  love  on  which  Cor- 
ban is  written  is  never  given  to  God,  but  really 
retained  for  self 

No,  let  a  man  love  his  neighbor  as  himself  Let  him 
love  his  brother,  sister,  wife,  with  all  the  intensity  of 
his  heart's  affection.  This  is  not  St.  John's  forbidden 
world. 

Again.  By  the  world  is  often  understood  the  worldly 
occupation,  trade,  or  profession,  which  a  man  exercises. 
And,  accordingly,  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  hear  this 
spoken  of  as  something  which,  if  not  actually  anti-reli- 
gious, is,  so  far  as  it  goes,  time  taken  away  from  the 
religious  life.  But  when  the  man  from  whom  the 
legion  had  been  expelled  asked  Jesus  for  the  precepts 
of  a  religious  existence,  the  reply  sent  him  back  to 


WORLDLINESS.  187 

home.  His  former  worldliness  had  consisted  in  doing 
his  worldly  duties  ill,  —  his  future  religiousness  was  to 
consist  in  doing  those  same  duties  better.  A  man's 
profession  or  trade  is  not  only  not  imcompatible  with 
religion  (provided  it  be  a  lawful  one)  —  it  is  his  reH- 
gion.  And  this  is  true  even  of  those  callings  which, 
at  first  sight,  appear  to  have  in  them  something  hard 
to  reconcile  with  religiousness.  For  instance,  the  pro- 
fession of  a  lawyer.  He  is  a  worldhng  in  it  if  he  use 
it  for  some  personal  greed,  or  degrade  it  by  chicanery. 
But,  in  itself,  it  is  an  occupation  which  sifts' right  from 
wrong;  which,  in  the  entangled  web  of  human  life, 
unwinds  the  meshes  of  error.  He  is  by  profession  en- 
listed on  the  side  of  the  -Right, —  directly  connected 
with  God,  the  central  point  of  Justice  and  Truth.  A 
nobler  occupation  need  no  man  desire  than  to  be  a  fel- 
low-worker with  God.  Or,  take  the  soldier's  trade,  — 
in  this  world  generally  a  trade  of  blood,  and  revenge, 
and  idle  licentiousness.  Rightly  understood,  what  is 
it?  A  soldier's  whole  life,  whether  he  will  or  not,  is 
an  enunciation  of  the  greatest  of  religious  truths, — 
the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  one  for  the  sake  of  many. 
In  the  detail  of  his  existence,  how  abundant  are  the 
opportunities  for  the  voluntary  recognition  of  this, 
—  opportunities  such  as  that  when  the  three  strong 
men  brake  through  the  lines  of  the  enemy  to  obtain 
the  water  for  their  sovereign's  thirst ;  opportunities  as 
when  that  same  heroic  sovereign  poured  the  untasted 
ivater  on  the  ground,  and  refused  to  drink  because  it 
was  his  soldiers'  lives  —  he  could  not  drink  at  such  a 
price.  Earnestness  *in  a  lawful  calling  is  not  worldli- 
ness. A  profession  is  the  sphere  of  our  activity. 
There  is  something  sacred  in  work.     To  work  in  the 


188  WORLDLINESS. 

appointed  sphere  is  to  be  religious,  —  as  religious  as 
to  pray.     This  is  not  the  forbidden  world. 

Now,  to  define  what  worldliness  is.  Remark,  first, 
that  it  is  determined  by  the  spirit  of  a  life,  not  the  ob- 
jects with  which  the  life  is  conversant.  It  is  not  the 
"  flesh,"  nor  the  "  eye,"  nor  "  life,"  which  are  forbidden, 
but  it  is  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  and  the  lust  of  the  eye, 
and  the  pride  of  life.  It  is  not  this  earth,  nor  the  men 
who  inhabit  it,  nor  the  sphere  of  our  legitimate  activ- 
ity, that  we  may  not  love ;  but  the  way  in  which  the 
love  is  given  which  constitutes  worldliness.  Look 
into  this  a  little  closer  —  the  lust  of  the  flesh.  Here 
is  affection  for  the  outward:  Pleasure,  that  which 
affects  the  senses  only ;  the  flesh,  that  enjoyment 
which  comes  from  the  emotions  of  an  hour,  be  it 
coarse  or  be  it  refined,  the  pleasure  of  wine  or  the 
pleasure  of  music,  so  far  as  it  is  only  a  movement  of 
the  flesh.  Again,  the  lust  of  the  eye.  Here  is  affec- 
tion for  the  transient ;  for  the  eye  can  only  gaze  on 
form  and  color,  and  these  are  things  that  do  not  last. 

Once  more :  the  pride  of  life.  Here  is  affection  for 
the  unreal.  Men's  opinion,  —  the  estimate  which  de- 
pends upon  Avealth,  rank,  circumstances.  Worldliness, 
then,  consists  in  these  three  things :  Attachment  to  the 
Outward,  attachment  to  the  Transitory,  attachment  to 
the  Unreal ;  in  opposition  to  love  for  the  Inward,  the 
Eternal,  the  True ;  and  the  one  of  these  affections  is 
necessarily  expelled  by  the  other.  "  If  any  man  love 
the  world,  the  love  of  the  Father  is  not  in  him."  Bui 
iot  a  man  once  feel  the  power  of  the  kingdom  that  is 
within,  and  then  the  love  fades  of  that  emotion  whoso 
life  consists  only  in  the  thriU  of  a  nerve,  or  the  vivid 
sensation  of  a  feeling;  he  loses  his  happiness,  and  wina 


1 


WORLDLINESS.  18^ 

bfs  blessedness.  Let  a  man  get  but  one  glimpse  of 
the  King  in  his  beauty,  and  then  the  forms  and  shapes 
of  things  here  are  but  the  types  of  an  invisible  loveli- 
ness— types  which  he  is  content  should  break  and 
fade.  Let  but  a  man  feel  truth, — that  goodness  is 
greatness — that  there  is  no  other  greatness, —  and 
then  the  degrading  reverence  with  which  the  titled  of 
this  world  bow  before  wealth,  and  the  ostentation  with 
which  the  rich  of  this  world  profess  their  familiarity 
with  title — all  the  pride  of  life,  what  is  it  to  him?  The 
love  of  the  Inward,  —  Everlasting,  Real,  —  the  love, 
that  is,  of  the  Father, — annihilates  the  love  of  the  world. 

11.  We  pass  to  the  reasons  for  which  the  love  of  the 
world  is  forbidden. 

The  first  reason  assigned  is,  that  the  love  of  the 
world  is  incompatible  with  the  love  of  God.  "  If  any 
man  love  the  world,  the  love  of  the  Father  is  not  in 
him."  Now,  what  we  observe  in  this  is,  that  St.  John 
takes  it  for  granted  that  we  must  love  something. 
If  not  the  love  of  the  Father,  then  of  necessity  the 
love  of  the  world.  Love  misplaced,  or  love  rightly 
placed,  —  you  have  your  choice  between  these  two; 
you  have  not  your  choice  between  loving  God  or 
nothing.  No  man  is  sufficient  for  himself  Every 
man  must  go  out  of  himself  for  enjoyment.  Some- 
thing in  this  universe  besides  himself  there  must  be 
to  bind  the  affections  of  every  man.  There  is  that 
within  us  which  compels  us  to  attach  ourselves  to 
something  outward.  The  choice  is  not  this,  —  Love, 
or  be  without  love.  You  cannot  give  the  pent-up 
steam  its  choice  of  moving  or  not  moving.  It  mast 
move  one  way  or  the  other  j    the    right  way  or    the 


190  W0RLDLINES9. 

wrong  way.  Direct  it  rightly,  and  its  energy  rolla 
the  engine-wheels  smoothly  on  their  track ;  block  up 
its  passage,  and  it  bounds  away,  a  thing  of  madness 
and  ruin.  Stop  it,  you  cannot ;  it  will  rather  burst. 
So  it  is  with  our  hearts.  There  is  a  pent-up  energy 
of  love,  gigantic  for  good  or  evil.  Its  right  way  is  in 
the  direction  of  our  Eternal  Father ;  and  then,  let  it 
boil  and  pant  as  it  will,  the  course  of  the  man  is 
smooth.  Expel  the  love  of  God  from  the  bosom, — 
what  then  ?  Will  the  passion  that  is  within  cease 
to  burn  ?  Nay.  Tie  the  man  down,  —  let  there  be 
no  outlet  for  his  affections,  —  let  him  attach  himself 
to  nothing,  and  become  a  loveless  spirit  in  this 
universe,  —  and  then  there  is  what  we  call  a  broken 
heart ;  the  steam  bursts  the  machinery  that  contains 
it.  Or  else,  let  him  take  his  course,  unfettered  and 
free,  and  then  we  have  the  riot  of  worldliness,  —  a 
man  with  strong  affections  thrown  off  the  line,  tear- 
ing himself  to  pieces,  and  carrying  desolation  along 
with  him.  Let  us  comprehend  our  own  nature,  our- 
selves, and  our  destinies.  God  is  our  Rest,  the  only 
One  that  can  quench  the  fever  of  our  desire.  God  in 
Christ  is  what  we  want.  When  men  quit  that,  so 
that  "  the  love  of  the  Father  is  not  in  them,"  then 
they  must  perforce  turn  aside  ;  the  nobler  heart  to 
break  with  disappointment, —  the  meaner  heart  to 
love  the  world  instead,  and  sate  and  satisfy  itself 
as  best  it  may  on  things  that  perish  in  the  using. 
Herein  lies  the  secret  of  our  being,  in  this  world  of 
the  affections.  This  explains  why  our  noblest  feel- 
ings lie  so  close  to  our  basest,  —  why  the  noblest  so 
easily  metamorphose  themselves  into  the  basest.     The 


1 


W0RLDLINES9.  191 

heart  which  was  made  large  enough  for  God  wastes 
itself  upon  the  world. 

The  second  reason  which  the  apostle  gives  for  not 
squandering  affection  on  the  world  is  its  transitori- 
ness.  Now,  this  transitoriness  exists  in  two  shapes. 
It  is  transitory  in  itself,  —  the  world  passeth  away.  It 
is  transitory  in  its  power  of  exciting  desire,  —  the  lust 
thereof  passeth  away. 

It  is  a  twice-told  tale,  that  the  world  is  passing 
away  from  us,  and  there  is  very  little  new  to  be  said 
on  the  subject.  God  has  written  it  on  every  page  of 
His  creation,  that  there  is  nothing  here  which  lasts. 
Our  affections  change.  The  friendships  of  the  man 
are  not  the  friendships  of  the  boy.  Our  very  selves 
are  altering.  The  basis  of  our  being  may  remain, 
but  our  views,  tastes,  feelings,  are  no  more  our 
former  self  than  the  oak  is  the  acorn.  The  very 
face  of  the  visible  world  is  altering  around  us  ;  we 
have  the  gray  mouldering  ruins  to  tell  of  what  was 
once.  Our  laborers  strike  their  ploughshares  against 
the  foundations  of  buildings  which  once  echoed  to 
human  mirth,  —  skeletons  of  men,  to  whom  life  once 
was  dear, —  urns  and  coins  that  remind  the  antiqua- 
rian of  a  magnificent  empire.  To-day  the  shot  of 
the  enemy  defaces  and  blackens  monuments  and 
venerable  temples,  which  remind  the  'Christian  that 
into  the  deep  silence  of  eternity  the  Roman  world, 
which  was  in  its  vigor  in  the  days  of  John,  has 
passed  away.  And  so  things  are  going.  It  is  a 
work  of  weaving  and  unweaving.  All  passes.  Names 
that  the  world  heard  once  in  thunder  are  scarcely 
heard  at  the  end  of  centuries  ;  —  good  or  bad,  they 
pass.     A   few  years   ago,  and  we  were   not.     A   few 


192  WORLDLINESS. 

centuries  further,  and  we  reach  the  age  of  beings  of 
almost  another  race.  Nimrod  was  the  conqueror  and 
scourge  of  his  far-back  age.  Tubal  Cain  gave  to  the 
world  the  iron  which  was  the  foundation  of  every 
triumph  of  men  over  nature.  We  have  their  names 
now.  But  the  philologist  is  uncertain  whether  the 
name  of  the  first  is  real  or  mythical ;  and  the 
traveller  excavates  the  sand-mounds  of  Nineveh  to 
wonder  over  the  records  which  he  cannot  decipher. 
Tyrant  and  benefactor,  both  are  gone.  And  so  all 
things  are  moving  on  to  the  last  fire,  which,  shall 
wrap  the  world  in  conflagration,  and  make  all  that 
has  been  the  recollection  of  a  dream.  This  is  the 
history  of  the  world,  and  all  that  is  in  it.  It  passes 
while  we  look  at  it.  Like  as  when  you  watch  the 
melting  tints  of  the  evening  sky,  —  purple-crimson, 
gorgeous  gold,  a  few  pulsations  of  quivering  light, 
and  it  is  all  gone,  —  we  are  such  stufi"  as  dreams  are 
made  of 

The  other  aspect  of  this  transitoriness  is,  that  the 
lust  of  the  world  passeth  away.  By  which  the  apostle 
seems  to  remind  us  of  that  solemn  truth  that,  fast  as 
the  world  is  fleeting  from  us,  faster  still  does  the  taste 
for  its  enjoyments  fleet ;  fast  as  the  brilliancy  fades 
from  earthly  things,  faster  still  does  the  eye  become 
wearied  of  straining  itself  upon  them. 

Now,  there  is  one  way  in  which  this  takes  place,  by 
a  man  becoming  satiated  with  the  world.  There  is 
something  in  earthly  rapture  which  cloys.  And  when 
we  drink  deep  of  pleasure,  there  is  left  behind  some- 
thing of  that  loathing  which  follows  a  repast  on 
sweets.  When  a  boy  sets  out  in  life,  it  is  all  fresh,  — 
freshness  in  feehng,  zest  in  his  enjoyment,  purity  in 


WORLDLINESS.  193 

his  heart.  Cherish  that,  mj  young  brethren,  while 
you  can ;  —  lose  it,  and  it  never  comes  again.  It  is  not 
an  easy  thing  to  cherish  it,  for  it  demands  restraint  in 
pleasure,  and  no  young  heart  loves  that.  Religion 
lias  only  calm,  sober,  perhaps  monotonous  pleasures, 
to  offer  at  first.  The  deep  rapture  of  enjoyment 
comes  in  after-life.  And  that  will  not  satisfy  the 
young  heart.  Men  will  know  what  pleasure  is,  and 
they  drink  deep.  Keen  delight,  feverish  enjoyment 
■ —  that  is  what  you  long  for  ;  and  these  emotions  lose 
their  delicacy  and  their  relish,  and  will  only  come  at 
the  bidding  of  gross  excitements.  The  ecstasy  which 
once  rose  to  the  sight  of  the  rainbow  in  the  sky,  or 
the  bright  brook,  or  the  fresh  morning,  comes  lan- 
guidly at  last  only  in  the  crowded  midnight  room,  or 
the  excitement  of  commercial  speculation,  or  beside 
the  gambling-table,  or  amidst  the  fever  of  politics. 
It  is  a  spectacle  for  men  and  angels,  when  a  man  has 
become  old  in  feeling,  and  worn-out  before  his  time. 
Know  we  none  such  among  our  own  acquaintance? 
Have  the  young  never  seen  those  aged  ones  who 
stand  amongst  them  in  their  pleasures,  almost  as  if  to 
warn  them  of  what  they  themselves  must  come  to,  at 
last?  Have  they  never  marked  the  dull  and  sated 
look  that  they  cast  upon  the  whole  scene,  as  upon  a 
thing  which  they  would  fain  enjoy  and  cannot?  Know 
you  what  you  have  been  looking  on  ?  A  sated  world- 
ling,—  one  to  whom  pleasure  was  rapture  once,  as  it 
is  to  you  now.  Thirty  years  more,  that  look  and  that 
place  will  be  yours;  and  that  is  the  way  the  world 
rewards  its  veterans  :  it  chains  them  to  it  after  the 
"  lust  of  the  world  "  has  passed  away. 

Or,  this  may  be  done  by  a  discovery  of  the  unsati* 
17 


194  WORLDLINESS. 

factoriness  of  the  world.  That  is  a  discoveiy  not 
made  by  every  man.  But  there  are  some,  at  least,  who 
have  learned  it  bitterly,  and  that  without  the  aid  of 
Christ.  Some  there  are  who  would  not  live  over  this 
past  life  again,  even  if  were  possible.  Some  there  are 
who  would  gladly  have  done  with  the  whole  thing  at 
once,  and  exchange  —  0,  how  joyfully  !  —  the  garment 
for  the  shroud.  And  some  there  are  who  cling  to  life, 
not  because  life  is  dear,  but  because  the  future  is  dark, 
and  they  tremble  somewhat  at  the  thought  of  entering 
it.  Clinging  to  life  is  no  proof  that  a  man  is  still  long- 
ing for  the  world.  We  often  cling  to  hfe  the  more 
tenaciously  as  years  go  on.  The  deeper  the  tree  has 
struck  its  roots  into  the  ground,  the  less  willing  is  it 
to  be  rooted  up.  But  there  is  many  a  one  who  so 
hangs  on  just  because  he  has  not  the  desperate  hardi- 
hood to  quit  it,  nor  faith  enough  to  be  "  willing  to  de- 
part." The  world  and  he  have  understood  each  other. 
He  has  seen  through  it.  He  has  ceased  to  hope  any- 
thing from  it.  The  love  of  the  Father  is  not  in  him ; 
but  "  the  lust  of  the  world  "  has  passed  away. 

Lastly.  A  reason  for  unlearning  the  love  of  the 
world  is  the  solitary  permanence  of  Christian  action 
In  contrast  with  the  fleetingness  of  this  world,  the 
apostle  tells  us  of  the  stabilit}^  of  labor.  "  He  that 
doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  forever."  And  let  us 
mark  this.  Christian  hfe  is  action  ;  not  a  speculating, 
not  a  debating,  but  a  doing.  One  thing,  and  only 
one,  in  the  world,  has  eternity  stamped  upon  it.  Feel 
ings  pass;  resolves  and  thoughts  pass;  opinions  change. 
"What  you  have  done  lasts  —  lasts  in  you.  Through 
ages,  through  eternity,  what  you  have  done  for  Christ, 
that,  and  only  that,  you  are.     "  They  rest  from  theii 


1 


WORLDLINESS.  195 

labors,"  saith  the  Spirit,  "  and  their  works  do  follow 
them."  If  the  love  of  the  Father  be  in  us,  where  is 
the  thing  done  which  we  have  to  show  ?  You  think 
justly,  feel  rightly  —  yes,  but  your  work.  Produce  it. 
Men  of  wealth,  men  of  talent,  men  of  leisure,  What  are 
jDU  doing  in  God's  world  for  God? 

Observe,  however,  to  distinguish  between  the  act 
and  the  actor:  it  is  not  the  thing  done,  but  the 
Doer,  who  lasts.  The  thing  done  often  is  a  failure. 
The  cup  given  in  the  name  of  Christ  may  be  given  to 
one  unworthy  of  it ;  but. think  ye  that  the  love  with 
which  it  was  given  has  passed  away?  Has  it  not 
printed  itself  indelibly  in  the  character,  by  the  very 
act  of  giving  ?  Bless,  and  if  the  Son  of  peace  be  there, 
your  act  succeeds ;  but  if  not,  your  blessing  shall  re 
turn  unto  you  again.  In  other  words,  the  act  may  fail, 
but  the  doer  of  it  abideth  forever. 

We  close  this  subject  with  two  practical  truths. 

First  of  aU,  let  us  learn  from  earthly  chaugefulness 
a  lesson  of  cheerful  activity.  The  world  has  its  way 
of  looking  at  all  this,  —  but  it  is  not  the  Christian's 
way.  There  has  been  nothing  said  to-day  that  a  worldly 
moralist  has  not  already  said  a  thousand  times  far  bet- 
ter. The  fact  is  a  world-fact.  The  application  is  a 
Christian  one.  Every  man  can  be  eloquent  about  the 
nothingness  of  time. 

But  the  application  !  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to- 
morrow we  die?  That  is  one  application.  Lotus  sen- 
timentalize and  be  sad  in  this  fleeting  world,  and  talk 
of  the  instability  of  human  greatness,  and  the  transi- 
toriness  of  human  affection  ?  Those  are  the  only  two 
applications  the  world  knows.  They  shut  out  the  rec- 
ollection, and  are  merry ;  or,  they  dwell  on  it,  and  are 


196  .  WOELDLINESS. 

sad.  Christian  brethren,  dwell  on  it,  and  be  happy. 
This  world  is  not  yours :  thank  God  it  is  not.  It  is 
dropping  away  from  you  like  worn-out  autumn  leaves ; 
bat  beneath  it,  hidden  in  it,  there  is  another  world 
lying  as  the  floAver  lies  in  the  bud.  That  is  your  world, 
which  must  burst  forth  at  last  into  eternal  luxuriance. 
All  you  stand  on,  see,  and  love,  is  but  the  husk  of  some- 
thing better.  Things  are  passing ;  our  friends  are  drop- 
ping off  from  us  ;  strength  is  giving  way  ;  our  relish 
for  earth  is  going ;  and  the  world  no  longer  wears  to 
our  hearts  the  radiance  that  once  it  wore.  We  have 
the  same  sky  above  us,  and  the  same  scenes  around 
us ;  but  the  freshness  that  our  hearts  extracted  from 
everything  in  boyhood,  and  the  glory  that  seemed  to 
rest  once  on  earth  and  life,  have  faded  away  forever. 
Sad  and  gloomy  truths  to  the  man  who  is  going  down  to 
the  grave  with  his  work  undone.  Not  sad  to  the  Chris- 
tian ;  but  rousing,  exciting,  invigorating.  If  it  be  the 
eleventh  hour,  we  have  no  time  for  folding  of  the 
hands ;  we  will  work  the  faster.  Through  the  change- 
fulness  of  life ;  through  the  solemn  tolling  of  the  bell 
of  Time,  which  tells  us  that  another,  and  another,  and 
another,  are  gone  before  us  ;  through  the  noiseless  rush 
of  a  world  which  is  going  down  with  gigantic  footsteps 
into  nothingness.  Let  not  the  Christian  slack  his  hand 
from  work;  for  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God  may  defy 
hell  itself  to  quench  his  immortality. 

Finally,  The  love  of  this  world  is  only  unlearned 
by  the  love  of  the  Father.  It  were  a  desolate  thing, 
indeed,  to  forbid  the  love  of  earth,  if  there  were  noth- 
ing to  fill  the  vacant  space  in  the  heart.  But  it  is  just 
for  this  purpose,  that  a  sublimer  affection  may  find 
room,  that  the  lower  is  to  be  expelled.     And  there  is 


WORLDLINESS.  197 

only  one  way  in  which  that  higher  love  is  learned.  The 
cross  of  Christ  is  the  measure  of  the  love  of  God  to 
us,  and  the  measure  of  the  meaning  of  man's  exist- 
ence. The  measure  of  the  love  of  God.  —  Through  the 
death-knell  of  a  passing  universe,  God  seems  at  least 
to  speak  to  us  in  wrath.  There  is  no  doubt  of  what 
God  means  in  the  cross,  fle  means  love.  -The  meas- 
ure of  the  meaning  of  man's  existence.  —  Measure  all 
by  the  cross.  Do  you  want  success  ?  The  cross  is  fail- 
ure. Do  you  want  a  name?  The  cross  is  infamy.  Is  it 
to  be  gay  and  happy  that  you  ive?  The  cross  is  pain 
and  sharpness.  Do  you  live  that  the  wiU  of  God  may 
be  done,  in  you  and  by  you,  in  hfe  and  death  ?  Then, 
and  only  then,  the  spirit  of  the  cross  is  in  you.  When 
once  a  man  has  learned  that,  the  power  of  the  world  is 
gone  ;  and  no  man  need  bid  him,  in  denunciation  or  in 
invitation,  not  to  love  the  world.  He  cannot  love  the 
world :  for  he  has  got  an  ambition  above  the  world. 
He  has  planted  his  foot  upon  a  Rock,  and  when  all  else 
is  gone,  he  at  least  abides  forever. 
17* 


XIV. 

[Preached  November  14,  1852.] 

THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  AND  THE  RELIGIOUS  NON- 
OBSERVANCE  OF  THE  SABBATH; 

Rom.  xiv.  5,  6  —  "  One  man  esteemeth  one  day  above  another;  another 
esteemeth  every  day  alike.  Let  every  man  be  fully  persuaded  in  hia 
own  mind.  He  that  regardeth  the  day,  regardeth  it  unto  the  Lord; 
and  he  that  regardeth  not  the  day,  to  the  Lord  he  doth  not  regard 
it.  He  that  eateth,  eateth  to  the  Lord,  for  he  giveth  God  thanks; 
and  he  that  eateth  not,  to  the  Lord  he  eateth  not,  and  giveth  God 
thanks." 

The  selection  of  this  text  i's  suggested  by  one  of 
the  current  topics  of  the  day.  Lately,  projects  have 
been  devised,  one  of  which  in  importance  surpasses 
all  the  rest,  for  providing  places  of  public  recreation 
for  the  people ;  and  it  has  been  announced,  with  the 
sanction  of  government,  that  such  a  place  will  be  held 
open  during  a  part,  at  least,  of  the  day  of  rest.  By  a 
large  section  of  sincerely  religious  persons  this  an- 
nouncement has  been  received  with  considerable 
alarm  and  strenuous  opposition.  It  has  seemed  to 
them  that  such  a  desecration  would  be  a  national 
crime ;  for,  holding  the  Sabbaths  to  be  God's  signs 
between  Himself  and  His  people,  they  cannot  but 
view  the  desecration  of  the  sign  as  a  forfeiture  of  His 
covenant,  and  an  act  which  will  assuredly  call  down 

(198) 


THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  ETC.  199 

national  judgments.  By  the  secular  press,  on  the  con- 
trary, this  proposal  has  been  defended  with  consider 
able  power.  It  has  been  maintained  that  the  Sabbath 
is  a  Jewish  institution  —  in  its  strictness,  at  all  events, 
not  binding  on  a  Christian  community.  It  has  been 
urged  with  much  force  that  we  cannot  consistently 
refuse  to  concede  to  the  poor  man  publicly,  that  right 
of  recreation  which  privately  the  rich  man  has  long 
taken  without  rebuke,  and  with  no  protest  on  the  part 
of  the  ministers  of  Christ.  And  it  has  been  said  that 
such  places  of  recreation  will  tend  to  humanize  — 
which,  if  not  identical  with  Christianizing  the  popula- 
tion, is  at  least  a  step  towards  it. 

Upon  such  a  subject,  where  truth  unquestionably 
does  not  lie  upon  the  surface,  it  cannot  be  out  of  place 
if  a  minister  of  Christ  endeavors  to  direct  the  minds 
of  his  congregation  towards  the  formation  of  an 
opinion;  not  dogmatically,  but  humbly  remembering 
always  that  his  own  temptation  is,  from  his  very  posi- 
tion, as  a  clergyman,  to  view  such  matters  not  so 
much  in  the  broad  light  of  the  possibilities  of  actual . 
life,  as  with  the  eyes  of  a  recluse  —  from  a  clerical 
and  ecclesiastical,  rather  than  from  a  large  and  human 
point  of  view.  For  no  minister  of  Christ  has  a  right 
to  speak  oracularly.  All  that  he  can  pretend  to  do  is 
to  erive  his  judgment,  as  one  that  has  obtained  mercy 
of  the  Lord  to  be  faithful.  And,  on  large  national 
subjects,  there  is  perhaps  no  class  so  ill  qualified  to 
form  a  judgment  with  breadth,  as  we,  the  clergy  of 
the  Church  of  England,  accustomed  as  we  are  to  move 
in  the  narrow  circle  of  those  who  listen  to  us  with 
forbearance  and  deference,  and  mixing  but  little  iu 
real  life,  till,  in  our  cloistered  and  inviolable  sanctu- 


200       THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  AND  THE 

aries,  we  are  apt  to  forget  that  it  is  one  thing  to  lay 
down  rules  for  a  religious  clique,  and  another  to  legis- 
late for  a  great  nation. 

In  the  Church  of  Rome,  a  controversy  had  arisen, 
in  the  time  of  St.  Paul,  respecting  the  exact  relation 
in  which  Christianity  stood  to  Judaism ;  and  conse- 
quently the  obligation  of  various  Jewish  institutions 
came  to  be  discussed:  among  the  rest,  the  Sabbath- 
day.  One  party  maintained  its  abrogation;  another,- 
its  continued  obligation.  "  One  man  esteemeth  one 
day  above  another;  another  esteemeth  every  day 
alike."  Now,  it  is  remarkable  that,  in  his  reply,  the 
Apostle  Paul,  although  his  own  views  upon  the  ques- 
tion were  decided  and  strong,  passes  no  judgment  of 
censure  upon  the  practice  of  either  of  these  parties, 
but  only  blames  the  uncharitable  spirit  in  which  the 
one  "judged  their  brethren,"  as  irreligious,  and  the 
other  "  set  at  naught "  their  stricter  brethren,  as  su- 
perstitious. He  lays  down,  however,  two  principles 
for  the  decision  of  the  matter :  the  first  being  the 
rights  of  Christian  conviction,  or  the  sacredness  of 
the  individual  conscience  —  "  Let  every  man  be  fully 
persuaded  in  his  own  mind ;  "  the  second,  a  principle 
unsatisfactory  enough,  and  surprising,  no  doubt,  to 
both  —  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  religious  observ- 
ance, and  also  such  a  thing  as  a  religious  non-observ- 
ance of  the  day — "  He  that  regardeth  the  day,  regard- 
eth  it  unto  the  Lord  ;  and  he  that  regardeth  not  the 
day,  to  the  Lord  he  doth  not  regard  it." 

I  shall  consider, 

L  St.  Paul's  own  view  upon  the  question. 

n.  His  modifications  of  that  view,  in  reference  to 
separate  cases. 


RELIGIOUS  NON-OBSERVANCE  OF  THE  SABBATH.   201 

I.  St.  Paul's  own  view. 

No  one,  I  believe,  who  would  read  St.  Paul's  own 
writings,  with  unprejudiced  mind,  could  fail  to  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  considered  the  Sabbath  abro- 
gated by  Christianity.  Not  merely  modified  in  its 
stringency,  but  totally  repealed. 

For  example,  see  Col.  ii.  16,  17 :  observe,  he  counts 
the  Sabbath-day  among  those  institutions  of  Judaism 
which  were  shadows,  and  of  which  Christ  was  the 
realization. —  the  substance,  or  "body;"  and  he  bids 
the  Colossians  remain  indifferent  to  the  judgment 
which  would  be  pronounced  upon  their  non-observance 
of  such  days.  "  Let  no  man  judge  you  with  respect 
to  ...  .  the  Sabbath-days." 

More  decisively  still,  in  the  text.  For  it  has  been 
contended  that  in  the  former  passage  "  Sabbath-days  " 
refers  simply  to  the  Jewish  Sabbaths,  which  were  su- 
perseded by  the  Lord's  day ;  and  that  the  apostle  does 
not  allude  at  all  to  the  new  institution,  which  it  is  sup- 
posed had  superseded  it.  Here,  however,  there  can 
be  no  such  ambiguity.  "  One  man  esteemeth  every 
day  alike ; "  and  he  only  says,  Let  him  be  fully  per- 
suaded in  his  own  mind.  "  Every  "  day  must  include 
first  days  as  well  as  last  days  of  the  week  —  Sundays 
as  well  as  Saturdays. 

And  again,  he  even  speaks  of  scrupulous  adherence 
to  particular  days,  as  if  it  were  giving  up  the  very 
principle  of  Christianity :  "  Ye  observe  days,  and 
months,  and  times,  and  years.  I  am  afraid  of  you, 
lest  I  have  bestowed  upon  you  labor  in  vain."  So  that 
his  objection  was  not  to  Jewish  days,  but  to  the  very 
principle  of  attaching  intrinsic  sacredness  to  any  days. 
All  forms  and  modes  of  particularizing  the  Christian 


202       THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  AND  THE 

life  he  reckoned  as  bondage  under  the  elements  or 
alphabet  of  the  law.  And  this  is  plain  from  tne  na- 
ture of  the  case.  He  struck  not  at  a  day,  but  at  a 
principle.  Else,  if,  with  all  this  vehemence  and  ear- 
nestness, he  only  meant  to  establish  a  new  set  of  days 
in  the  place  of  the  old,  there  is  no  intelligible  principle 
for  which  he  is  contending,  and  that  earnest  apostle 
is  only  a  champion  for  one  day  instead  of  another,  — 
an  assertor  of  the  eternal  sanctities  of  Sunday,  in 
stead  of  the  eternal  sanctities  of  Saturday.  Incredible, 
indeed. 

Let  us,  then,  understand  the  principle  on  which  he 
declared  the  repeal  of  the  Sabbath.  He  taught  that 
the  blood  of  Christ  cleansed  aU  things ;  therefore 
there  was  nothing  specially  clean.  Christ  had  vindi- 
cated all  for  God ;  therefore  there  was  no  thing  more 
God's  than  another.  For,  to  assert  one  thing  as  God's 
more  than  another,  is,  by  implication,  to  admit  that 
other  to  be  less  God's. 

The  blood  of  Christ  had  vindicated  God's  parental 
right  to  all  humanity ;  therefore  there  could  be  no 
peculiar  people.  "  There  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek, 
circumcision  nor  uncircumcision.  Barbarian,  Scythian, 
bond,  nor  free  ;  but  Christ  is  all  and  in  all."  It  had 
proclaimed  God's  property  in  all  places;  therefore 
there  could  be  no  one  place  intrinsically  holier  than 
another.  No  human  dedication,  no  human  consecrar 
tion,  could  localize  God  in  space.  Hence,  the  first 
martyr  quoted  from  the  prophet :  "  Howbeit  the  Most 
High  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands ;  aa 
saith  the  prophet,  Heaven  is  my  throne,  and  earth  is 
my  footstool;  what  house  will  ye  build  for  me?  saith 
ihQ  Lord." 


RELIGIOUS  NOX-OBSERVAXCE  OF  THE  SABBATH.  203 

Lastly,  the  Gospel  of  Christ  had  sanctified  all  time  ; 
h(jiice  no  time  could  be  specially  God's.  For,  to  assert 
tliat  Sunday  is  more  God's  day  than  Monday,  is  to 
maintain  by  implication  Monday  is  His  less  rightfully. 

Here,  however,  let  it  be  obsei'ved,  it  is  perfectly 
possible,  and  not  at  all  inconsistent  with  this,  that  for 
human  convenience,  and  even  human  necessities,  just 
as  it  became  desirable  to  set  apart  certain  places  in 
which  the  noise  of  earthly  business  could  not  be  heard 
for  spiritual  worship,  so  it  should  become  desirable  to 
set  apart  certain  days  for  special  worship.  But,  then, 
all  such  were  defensible  on  the  ground  of  wise  and 
Christian  expediency  alone  ;  they  could  not  be  placed 
on  the  ground  of  a  Divine  statute  or  command ;  they 
rested  on  the  authority  of  the  Church  of  Christ ;  and 
the  power  which  had  made  could  unmake  them  again. 

Accordingly,  in  early,  we  cannot  say  exactly  how 
early  times,  the  Church  of  Christ  felt  the  necessity  of 
substituting  something  in  place  of  the  ordinances 
which  had  been  repealed.  And  the  Lord's  day  arose, 
not  a  day  of  compulsory  rest  —  not  such  a  day  at  all 
as  modern  Sabbatarians  suppose.  Not  a  Jewish  sab> 
bath ;  rather  a  day  in  many  respects  absolutely  con- 
trasted with  the  Jewish  sabbath. 

For  the  Lord's  day  sprung,  not  out  of  a  transference 
of  the  Jewish  sabbath  from  Saturday  to  Sunday,  but 
rather  out  of  the  idea  of  making  the  week  an  imitation 
of  the  life  of  Christ.  With  the  early  Christians,  the 
great  conception  was  that  of  following  their  crucified 
and  risen  Lord ;  they  set,  as  it  were,  the  clock  of  time 
to  the  epoclis  of  His  history.  Friday  represented  :he 
Death,  in  whicli  all  Christians  daily  die;  and  Sunday  the 
Resurrection,   in   which   all   Christians    daily   rise   to 


204       THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  AND  THE 

higher  lifs.  What  Friday  and  Sunday  were  to  the 
week,  that  Good  Friday  and  Easter  Sunday  were  to 
the  year.  And  thus,  in  larger  or  smaller  cycles,  all 
time  represented  to  the  early  Christians  the  mysteries 
of  the  Cross  and  the  Risen  life  in  hidden  humanity.  Ar.d 
as  the  sunflower  turns  from  morning  till  evening  to  the 
sun,  so  did  the  early  Church  turn  forever  to  her  Lord, 
transforming  week  and  year  into  a  symbolical  repre- 
sentation of  His  Spiritual  Life. 

Carefully  distinguish  this,  the  true  historical  view 
of  the  origin  of  the  Lord's  day,  from  a  mere  transfer- 
ence of  a  Jewish  sabbath  from  one  day  to  another. 
For  St.  Paul's  teaching  is  distinct  and  clear,  that  the 
Sabbath  is  annulled ;  and  to  urge  the  observance  of  the 
day  as  indispensable  to  salvation  was,  according  to  him, 
to  Judaize  —  "  to  turn  again  to  the  weak  and  beggarly 
elements,  whereunto  they  desired  to  be  in  bondage." 

II.  The  modifications  of  this  view. 

The  first  modification  has  reference  to  those  who 
conscientiously  observed  the  day.  He  that  observeth 
the  day,  observeth  it  to  the  Lord.  Let  him  act,  then, 
on  that  conviction :  "  Let  him  be  fully  persuaded  in 
his  own  mind." 

There  is,  therefore,  a  religious  observance  of  the 
Sabbath-day  possible. 

We  are  bound  by  the  spirit  of  the  fourth  command- 
ment, so  far  as  we  are  in  the  same  spiritual  state  as 
they  to  whom  it  was  given.  The  spiritual  intent  of 
Christianity  is  to  worship  God  every  day  in  the  spirit. 
But,  had  this  law  been  given  in  all  its  purity  to  the 
Jews,  instead  of  turning  every  week-day  into  a  sab- 
bath, they  would  have  transformed  every  sabbath  into 


RELIGIOUS   NON-OBSERVANCE    OF    THE    SABBATH.      205 

a  week-day ;  with  no  special  day  fixed  for  worship, 
they  would  have  spent  every  day  without  worship. 
Their  hearts  were  too  dull  for  a  devotion  so  spiritual 
and  pure. 

Therefore,  a  law  was  given,  'specializing  a  day,  in 
order  to  lead  them  to  the  broader  truth  that  every  day 
is  God's. 

Now,  so  far  as  we  are  in  the  Jewish  state,  the  fourth 
commandment,  even  in  its  rigor  and  strictness,  is 
wisely  used  by  us ;  nay,  we  might  say,  indispensable. 
For  who  is  he  who  needs  not  the  day  ?  He  is  the  man 
so  rich  in  love,  so  conformed  to  the  mind  of  Christ,  so 
elevated  into  the  sublime  repose  of  heaven,  that  he 
needs  no  carnal  ordinances  at  all,  nor  the  assistance  of 
one  day  in  seven  to  kindle  spiritual  feelings,  seeing  he 
is,  as  it  were,  all  his  life  in  heaven  already. 

And,  doubtless,  such  the  Apostle  Paul  expected  the 
Church  of  Christ  to  be.  Anticipating  the  second 
Advent  at  once,  not  knowing  the  long  centuries  of 
slow  progress  that  were  to  come,  his  heart  would  have 
sunk  within  him,  could  he  have  been  told  that  at  the 
end  of  eighteen  centuries  tlie  Christian  Church  would 
be  still  observing  days,  and  months,  and  times,  and 
years, —  and,  still  more,  needing  them. 

Needing  them,  I  say.  For  the  Sabbath  was  made 
for  man.  God  made  it  for  men  in  a  certain  spiritual 
state,  because  they  needed  it.  The  need,  therefore,  is 
deeply  hidden  in  human  nature.  He  who  can  dispense 
with  it  must  be  holy  and  spiritual  indeed.  And  he 
vvho,  still  unholy  and  unspiritual,  would  yet  dispense 
with  it,  is  a  man  who  would  fain  be  wiser  than  hia 
Makor.  We,  Cliristians  as  we  are,  still  need  the  law, 
both  in  its  restraints,  and  in  its  aids  to  our  weakness. 
18 


206        THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  AND  THE 

No  man,  therefore,  who  knows  himself,  but  will 
gladly  and  joyfully  use  the  institution.  No  man  who 
knows  the  need  of  his  brethren  will  wantonly  dese- 
crate it,  or  recklessly  hurt  even  their  scruples  respect- 
ing its  observance.  And  no  such  man  can  look  with 
aught  but  grave  and  serious  apprehensions  on  such  an 
innovation  upon  English  customs  of  life  and  thought, 
as  the  proposal  to  give  public  and  official  countenance 
to  a  scheme  which  will  invite  millions,  I  do  not  say  to 
an  irreligious,  but  certainly  an  unreligious  use  of  the 
day  of  rest. 

This,  then,  is  the  first  modification  of  the  broad  view 
of  a  repealed  Sabbath.  Repealed  though  it  be,  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  religious  observance  of  it.  And, 
provided  that  those  who  are  stricter  than  we  in  their 
views  of  its  obligation  observe  it  not  from  super- 
stition, nor  in  abridgment  of  Christian  liberty,  nor 
from  moroseness,  we  are  bound,  in  Christian  charity, 
to  yield  them  all  respect  and  honor.  Let  them  act  out 
their  conscientious  convictions.  Let  not  him  that 
observeth  not  despise  him  that  observeth. 

The  second  modification  of  the  broad  view  is,  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  religious  non-observance  of 
the  Sabbath.  I  lay  a  stress  on  the  word  religious. 
For  St.  Paul  does  not  say  that  every  non-observance 
of  the  Sabbath  is  religious :  but  that  he  who,  not  ob- 
serving it,  observeth  it  not  to  the  Lord,  is,  because 
acting  on  conscientious  conviction,  as  acceptable  as 
the  others,  who  in  obedience  to  what  they  believe  to 
be  His  will  observe  it. 

s 

He  pays  his  non-observance  to  the  Lord,  who,  feel- 
ing that  Christ  has  made  him  free,  striving  to  live  all 
his  days  in  the  Spirit,  and  knowing  that  that  which  is 


RELIGIOUS  NON-OBSERVANCE  OF  THE  SABBATH.  207- 

displeasing  to  God  is  not  work  nor  recreation,  but 
selfishness  and  ■worldliness,  refuses  to  be  bound  by  a 
Jewish  ordinance  which  forbade  labor  and  recreation 
only  with  a  typical  intent. 

But  he  who,  not  trying  to  serve  God  on  any  day, 
gives  Sunday  to  toil  or  pleasure,  certainly  observes 
not  the  day ;  but  his  non-observance  is  not  rendered 
to  the  Lord.  He  may  be  free  from  superstition ;  but 
it  is  not  Christ  who  has  made  him  free.  Nor  is  he 
one  of  whom  St.  Paul  would  have  said  that  his  liberty 
on  the  Sabbath  is  as  acceptable  as  his  brother's  con- 
scientious scrupulosity. 

Here,  then,  we  are  at  issue  with  the  popular  de- 
fence of  public  recreations  on  the  Sabbath-day :  not 
80  much  with  respect  to  the  practice,  as  with  respect 
to  the  grounds  on  which  the  practice  is  approved. 
They  claim  liberty  ;  but  it  is  not  Christian  liberty. 
Like  St.  Paul,  they  demand  a  license  for  non-observ 
ance ;  only,  it  is  not  "  non-observance  to  the  Lord." 
For,  distinguish  well.  The  abolition  of  Judaism  is  not 
necessarily  the  establishment  of  Christianity  ;  to  do 
away  with  the  Sabbath-day  in  order  to  substitute  a 
nobler,  truer,  more  continuous  sabbath,  even  the  sab- 
bath of  all  time  given  up  to  God,  is  well.  But  to  do 
away  the  special  Rights  of  God  to  the  Sabbath,  in 
order  merely  to  substitute  the  Rights  of  Pleasure,  or 
the  Rights  of  Mammon,  or  even  the  license  of  profli- 
gacy and  drunkenness,  —  that,  me  thinks,  is  not  Paul's 
"  Christian  liberty." 

The  second  point  on  which  we  join  issue  is  the 
assumption  that  public  places  of  recreation,  which 
humanize,  will  therefore* Christianize  the  people.  It 
is  taken  for  granted  that  architecture,  sculpture,  and 


208         THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  AND  THE 

the  wonders  of  Nature  and  Art  which  such  buildings 
will  contain,  have  a  direct  or  indirect  tendency  to  lead 
to  true  devotion. 

Only  in  a  very  limited  degree  is  there  truth  in  thia 
at  all.  Christianity  will  humanize ;  we  are  not  so 
sure  that  humanizing  will  Christianize.  Let  us  be 
clear  upon  this  matter.  Esthetics  are  not  Religion. 
It  is  one  thing  to  civilize  and  polish ;  it  is  another 
thing  to  Christianize,  The  Worship  of  the  Beautiful 
is  not  the  Worship  of  Holiness ;  nay,  I  know  not 
whether  the  one  may  not  have  a  tendency  to  disin- 
cline from  the  other. 

At  least,  such  was  the  history  of  ancient  Greece. 
Greece  was  the  home  of  the  Arts,  the  sacred  ground 
on  which  the  worship  of  the  Beautiful  was  carried  to 
its  perfection.  Let  those  who  have  read  the  history 
of  her  decline  and  fall,  who  have  perused  the  debas- 
ing works  of  her  later  years,  tell  us  how  music,  paint- 
ing, poetry,  the  arts,  softened  and  debilitated  and  sen- 
sualized the  nation's  heart.  Let  them  tell  us  how, 
when  Greece's  last  and  greatest  man  was  warning  in 
vain  against  the  foe  at  her  gates,  and  demanding  a 
manlier  and  a  more  heroic  disposition  to  sacrifice,  that 
most  polished  and  humanized  people,  sunk  in  trade 
and  sunk  in  pleasure,  were  squandering  enormous 
sums  upon  their  buildings  and  their  esthetics,  their 
processions  and  their  people's  palaces,  till  the  flood 
came,  and  the  liberties  of  Greece  were  trampled 
down  forever  beneath  the  feet  of  the  Macedonian 
conqueror. 

No  !  the  change  of  a  nation's  heart  is  not  to  be 
eflected  by  the  infusion  of  a  taste  for  artistic  grace. 
"  Other  foundation  can  no  man  lay  than  that  is  laid, 


RELIGIOUS  NON-OBSERVANCE  OF  THE  SABBATH.   209 

which  is  Christ  Jesus."  Not  Art,  but  the  Cross  of 
Christ.  Simpler  manners,  purer  lives,  more  self-de- 
nial, more  earnest  sympathy  with  the  classes  that  lie 
below  us,  —  nothing  short  of  that  can  lay  the  founda- 
tions of  the  Christianity  which  is  to  be  hereafter,  deep 
and  broad. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  dissent  from  the  views  of 
*hose  who  would  arrest  such  a  project  by  petitions  to 
the  legislature  on  these  grounds. 

1.  It  is  a  return  backwards  to  Judaism  and  Law. 
It  may  be  quite  true  that,  as  we  suspect,  such  non- 
observance  of  the  day  is  not  to  the  Lord,  but  only  a 
scheme  of  mere  pecuniary  speculation.  Nevertheless, 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  religious  non-observance  of 
the  day;  and  we  dare  not  "judge  another  man's  ser- 
vant ;  to  his  own  master  he  standeth  or  falleth."  We 
dare  not  assert  the  perpetual  obligation  of  the  Sab- 
bath, when  an  inspired  apostle  has  declared  it  abro- 
gated. We  dare  not  refuse  a  public  concession  of 
that  kind  of  recreation  to  the  poor  man  which  the 
rich  have  long  not  hesitated  to  take  in  their  sump- 
tuous mansions  and  pleasure-grounds,  unrebuked  by 
the  ministers  of  Christ,  who  seem  touched  to  the 
quick  only  when  the  desecration  of  the  Sabbath  is 
loud  and  vulgar.  We  cannot  substitute  a  statute  law 
for  a  repealed  law  of  God.  We  may  think,  and  we  do, 
that  there  is  much  which  may  lead  to  dangerous  con- 
sequences in  this  innovation  ;  but  we  dare  not  treat  it 
as  a  crime. 

The  second  ground  on   which  Ave  are   opposed  to 

the  ultra-rigor  of  Sabbath  observance,  especially  when 

it   becomes   coercive,   is    the    danger  of  injuring  the 

conscience.     It  is  wisely  taught  by  St.  Paul  that  he 

18* 


210        THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  AND  THE 

who  does  anything  with  ofifence — that  is,  with  a  feeling 
that  it  is  wrong  —  does  wrong.  To  him  it  is  wrong 
even  though  it  be  not  wrong  abstractedly.  Therefore 
it  is  always  dangerous  to  multiply  restrictions  and 
requirements  beyond  what  is  essential ;  because  men, 
feeling  themselves  hemmed  in,  break  the  artificial 
barrier,  but,  breaking  it  with  a  sense  of  guilt,  do 
thereby  become  hardened  in  conscience,  and  prepared 
for  transgression  against  commandments  which  are 
Divine  and  of  eternal  obligation.  Hence  it  is  that 
the  criminal  has  so  often  in  his  confessions  traced 
his  deterioration  in  crime  to  the  first  step  of  breaking 
the  Sabbath-day;  and  no  doubt  with  accurate  truth. 
But  what  shall  we  infer  from  this  ?  Shall  we  infer, 
as  is  so  often  done  upon  the  platform  and  in  religious 
books,  that  it  proves  the  everlasting  obligation  of  the 
Sabbath  ?  Or,  shall  we,  with  a  far  truer  philosophy 
of  the  human  soul,  infer,  in  the  language  of  St 
Peter,  that  we  have  been  laying  on  him  "  a  yoke 
which  neither  we  nor  our  fathers  were  able  to  bear  "  ? 
—  in  the  language  of  St.  Paul,  that  "  the  motions  of 
sin  were  by  the  law ;  "  that  the  rigorous  rule  was  itself 
the  stimulating,  moving  cause  of  the  sin  ;  and  that 
when  the  young  man,  worn  out  with  his  week's  toil, 
first  stole  out  into  the  fields  to  taste  the  fresh  breath 
of  a  spring-day,  he  did  it  with  a  vague,  secret  sense 
of  transgression ;  and  that,  having,  as  it  were,  drawn  his 
sword  in  defiance  against  the  established  code  of  the 
religious  world,  he  felt  that  from  thenceforward  there 
was  for  him  no  return,  and  so  he  became  an  outcast, 
his  sword  against  every  man,  and  every  man's  sword 
against  him  ?  I  believe  this  to  be  the  true  account  of 
the  matter  ;  and,  believing  it,  I  cannot  but  believe  that 


RELIGIOUS   NON-OBSERVANCE   OF  THE   SABBATH.     211 

the  false,  Jewish  notions  of  the  Sabbath-day  which  are 
prevalent  have  been  exceedingly  pernicious  to  the 
morals  of  the  country. 

Lastly,  I  remind  you  of  the  danger  of  mistaking  a 
"positive  "  law  for  a  moral  one.  The  danger  is,  that 
proportionably  to '  the  vehemence  with  which  the  law 
positive  is  enforced,  the  sacredness  of  moral  laws  is 
neglected.  A  positive  law,  in  theological  language,  is 
a  law  laid  down  for  special  purposes,  and  corresponds 
with  statute  laws  in  things  civil.  Thus  laws  of  quar- 
antine and  laws  of  exercise  depend  for  their  force 
upon  the  will  of  the  legislature,  and  when  repealed  are 
binding  no  more.  But  a  moral  law  is  one  binding  for- 
ever ;  which  a  statute  law  may  declare,  but  can  neither 
make  nor  unmake. 

Now,  when  men  are  rigorous  in  the  enforcement  and- 
reverence  paid  to  laws  positive,  the  tendency  is  to  a 
corresponding  indifference  to  the  laws  of  eternal 
Right.  The  written  supersedes  in  their  hearts  the 
moral.  The  mental  history  of  the  ancient  Pharisees 
who  observed  the  Sabbath,  and  tithed  mint,  anise,  and 
cummin,  neglecting  justice,  mercy,  and  truth,  is  the 
history  of  a  most  dangerous  but  universal  tendency 
of  the  human  heart.  And  so,  many  a  man,  whose 
heart  swells  with  what  he  thinks  pious  horror  when 
he  sees  the  letter  delivered  or  the  train  run  upon  the 
Sabbatli-day,  can  pass  through  the  streets  at  night 
undepressed  and  unshocked  by  the  evidences  of  the 
wide-spreading  profligacy  which  has  eaten  deep  into 
his  country's  heart.  And  many  a  man  who  would 
gaze  upon  the  domes  of  a  crystal  palace,  rising  above 
the  trees,  with  somewhat  of  the  same  feeling  witli 
which  he  would  look  on  a  temple   dedicated  to  Jug- 


212         THE  SYDENHAM  PALACE,  ETC. 

gernaut,  and  who  would  fancy  that  something  of  the 
spirit  of  an  ancient  prophet  was  burning  in  his  bosom, 
when  his  lips  pronounced  the  Woe !  woe  !  of  a 
coming  doom,  would  sit  calmly  in  a  social  circle  of 
English  life,  and  scarcely  feel  uneasy  in  listening  to  its 
uncharitableness  and  its  slanders  ;  would  hear,  without 
one  throb  of  indignation,  the  common  dastardly  con- 
demnation of  the  weak  for  sins  which  are  venial  in  the 
strong;  would  survey  the  relations  of  the  rich  and 
poor  in  this  country,  and  remain  calmly  satisfied  that 
there  is  nothing  false  in  them,  unbrotherly,  and  wrong. 
No,  my  brethren !  let  us  think  clearly  and  strongly  on 
this  matter.  It  may  be  that  God  has  a  controversy 
with  this  people.  It  may  be,  as  they  say,  that  our 
Father  will  chasten  us  by  the  sword  of  the  foreigner. 
But,  if  He  does,  and  if  judgments  are  in  store  for  our 
country,  they  will  fall,  not  because  the  correspondence 
of  the  land  is  carried  on  upon  the  Sabbath  day ;  nor 
because  Sunday  trains  are  not  arrested  by  the  legisla- 
ture ;  nor  because  a  public  permission  is  given  to  the 
working-classes  for  a  few  hours'  recreation  on  the  day 
of  rest :  but  because  we  are  selfish  men  ;  and  because 
we  prefer  Pleasure  to  Duty,  and  Traffic  to  Honor ;  and 
because  we  love  our  party  more  than  our  Church,  and 
our  Church  more  than  our  Christianity,  and  our  Chris- 
tianity more  than  Truth,  and  ourselves  more  than  all. 
These  are  the  things  that  defile  a  nation ;  but  the  labor 
and  recreation  of  its  Poor,  these  are  not  the  things 
that  defile  a  nation. 


XV. 

[Preached  January  2,  1853.] 

THE    EARLY    DEVELOPMENT     OF    JESUS. 

LuEE  ii.  40.  —  "And  the  child  grew,  and  waxed  strong  in  spii'it,  filled 
with  wisdom;  and  the  grace  of  God  was  upon  him." 

The  ecclesiastical  year  begins  with  Advent,  then 
comes  Christmas-day.  The  first  day  of  the  natural 
year  begins  with  the  infancy  of  the  Son  of  Man.  To- 
day the  Gospel  proceeds  with  the  brief  account  of  the 
early  years  of  Jesus. 

The  infinite  significance  of  the  life  of  Christ  is  not 
exhausted  by  saying  that  He  was  a  perfect  man.  The 
notion  of  the  earlier  Socinians  that  He  was  a  pattern 
man  (ipiloicivdQojTxoi)^  commissioned  from  Heaven  with  a 
message  to  teach  men  how  to  live,  and  supern^turally 
empowered  to  live  in  that  perfect  way  Himself,  is 
immeasurably  short  of  truth.  For  perfection  merely 
human  does  not  attract — rather  it  repels.  It  may  be 
copied  in  form;  it  cannot  be  imitated  in  spirit,  —  for 
men  only  imitate  that  from  which  enthusiasm  and  Hfe 
are  caught,  —  for  it  does  not  inspire  nor  fire  with  love. 

Faultless  men  and  pattern  children,  —  you  may 
admire  them,  but  you  admire  coldly.  Praise  them  as 
you  will,  no  one  is  better  for  their  example.  No  one 
blames  them,  and  no  one  loves  themj  they  kindle  no 

(2Vi) 


214  THE  EARLY  DEVELOPMENT   OP  JESUS. 

enthusiasm,  they  create  no  likenesses  of  themselves ; 
they  never  reproduce  themselves  in  other  lives,  —  the 
true  prerogative  of  all  original  life. 

If  Christ  had  only  been  a  faultless  Being,  He  would 
never  have  set  up  in  the  world  a  new  type  of  character, 
which  at  the  end  of  two  thousand  years  is  fresh  and 
life-giving  and  inspiring  still.  He  never  would  have 
regenerated  the  world.  He  never  would  have  "  drawn 
all  men  unto  Him,"  by  being  lifted  up  a  self  sacrifice, 
making  self  devotion  beautiful.  In  Christ  the  Divine 
and  Human  blended;  Immutability  joined  itself  to 
Mutability.  There  was  in  Him  the  Divine  which 
remained  fixed ;  the  Human,  which  was  constantly 
developing.  One  uniform  Idea  and  Purpose  charac- 
terized His  whole  life,  with  a  Divine  immutable  unity 
throughout,  but  it  was  subject  to  the  laws  of  human 
growth.  For  the  soul  of  Christ  was  not  cast  down 
upon  this  world  a  perfect  thing  at  once.  Spotless  ?  — 
yes.  Faultless?  —  yes.  Tempted  in  all  points  with 
out  sin? — yes.  But  perfection  is  more  than  faultless- 
ness.  All  Scripture  coincides  in  telling  us  that  the 
ripe  perfection  of  His  manhood  was  reached  step  by 
step.  .There  was  a  power  and  a  Life  within  Him  which 
were  to  be  developed,  which  could  only  be  developed,  like 
all  human  strength  and  goodness,  by  toil  of  brain  and 
heart.  Life  up-hill  all  the  way ;  and  every  foot-print 
by  which  He  climbed  left  behind  for  us,  petrified  on 
the  hard  rock,  and  indurated  into  history  forever,  to 
show  us  when  and  where  and  how  He  toiled  and  won. 

Take  a  few  passages  to  prove  that  His  perfection 
was  gained  by  degrees.  "  It  became  Him  for  whom 
are  all  things,  and  by  whom  are  all  things,  in  bringing 


.  THE   EARLY   DEVELOPMENT   OP   JESUS.  215 

many  sons  to  glory,  to  make  the  Captain  of  their  salva- 
tion ^er/ec^  through  suffering." 

Again,  "  Behold,  I  cast  out  devils,  and  do  cures 
to-day  and  to-morroAv,  and  the  third  day  I  shall  be 
perfected." 

"  Though  He  were  a  Son,  yet  learned  He  obedience." 
And  in  the  context,  "  Jesus  increased." 

Now,  see  the  result  of  this  aspect  of  His  perfecti- 
bility. In  that  changeless  element  of  His  Being  which 
beneath  all  the  varying  phases  of  growth  remained 
Divinely  faultless,  we  see  that  which  we  can  adore. 
In  the  ever-changing,  ever-growing,  subject  therefore 
to  feebleness  and  endearing  mutability,  we  see  that 
which  brings  Him  near  to  us ;  makes  Him  lovable,  at 
the  same  time  that  it  interprets  us  to  ourselves. 

Our  subject  is  the  early  development  of  Jesus.  In 
this  text  we  read  of  a  three-fold  growth. 

I.  In  strength. 

II.  In  wisdom. 

III.  In  grace. 

First,  it  speaks  to  us  simply  of  His  early  develop- 
ment.    "  The  child  grew." 

In  the  case  of  all  rare  excellence  that  is  merely 
human,  it  is  the  first  object  of  the  biographer  of  a 
marvellous  man  to  seek  for  surprising  stories  of  his 
early  life.  The  appetite  for  the  marvellous  in  this 
matter  is  almost  instinctive  and  invariable.  All  men, 
almost,  love  to  discover  the  early  wonders  which  were 
prophetic  of  after-greatness.  Apparently,  the  reason 
is,  that  we  are  unwilling  to  believe  that  wondrous  ex- 
cellence was  attained  by  slow,  patient  labor.  We  get 
an  excuse  for  our  own  slowness  and  stunted  growth, 


216  THE   EARLY  DEVELOPMENT   OF   JESUS. 

by  settling  it,  once  for  all,  that  the  original  differences 
between  such  men  and  us  were  immeasurable.  There- 
fore it  is,  I  conceive,  that  we  seek  so  eagerly  for  anec- 
dotes of  early  precocity. 

In  this  spirit  the  fathers  of  the  primitive  church 
collected  legends  of  the  early  life  of  Christ,  stories  of 
superhuman  infancy  —  what  the  infant  and  the  child 
said  and  did.  Many  of  these  legends  are  absurd ;  all, 
as  resting  on  no  authority,  are  rejected. 

Very  different  from  this  is  the  spirit  of  the  Bible 
narrative.  It  records  no  marvellous  stories  of  infantine 
sagacity  or  miraculous  power,  to  feed  a  prurient  curi- 
osity. Both  in  what  it  tells  and  in  what  it  does  not 
tell,  one  thing  is  plain,  that  the  human  life  of  the  Son 
of  God  was  natural.  There  was  first  the  blade,  then 
the  ear,  then  the  full  corn.  In  what  it  does  not  say ; 
because,  had  there  been  anything  preternatural  to 
record,  no  doubt  it  would  have  been  recorded.  In 
what  it  does  say  ;  because  that  little  is  all  unaffectedly 
simple.  One  anecdote,  and  two  verses  of  general 
description,  —  that  is  all  which  is  told  us  of  the  Redeem- 
er's childhood. 

The  child,  it  is  written,  grew.  Two  pregnant  facts. 
He  was  a  child,  and  a  child  that  grew  in  heart,  in  intel- 
lect, in  size,  in  grace,  in  favor  with  God.  Not  a  man 
in  child's  j'^ears.  No  hot-bed  precocity  marked  the 
holiest  of  infancies.  The  Son  of  Man  grew  up  in  the 
quiet  valley  of  existence, —  in  shadow,  not  in  sunshine, 
not  forced.  No  unnatural,  stimulating  culture  had 
developed  the  mind  or  feelings ;  no  public  flattery, 
no  sunning  of  infantine  perfections  in  the  glare  of  the 
world's  show,  had  brought  the  temptation  of  the  wilder 
ness,  with  which  His  manhood  grappled,  too  early  on 


THE   EARLY   DEVELOPMENT   OF   JESUS.  217 

His  soul.  We  know  that  He  was  childlike,  as  other 
children ;  for  in  after-years  His  brethren  thought  His 
fame  strange,  and  his  townsmen  rejected  him.  They 
could  not  believe  that  one  who  had  gone  in  and  out, 
ate  and  drank  and  worked,  was  He  whose  Name  is 
Wonderful,  The  proverb,  true  of  others,  was  true  of 
Him :  "  A  prophet  is  not  without  honor,  but  in  his 
own  country,  and  among  his  own  kin,  and  in  his  own 
house."  You  know  him  in  a  picture  at  once,  by  the 
halo  round  his  brow.  There  was  no  glory  in  His  real 
life  to  mark  Him.  He  was  in  the  world,  and  the  world 
knew  Him  not.  Gradually  and  gently  He  woke  to 
consciousness  of  life  and  its  manifold  meaning ;  found 
Himself  in  possession  of  a  self;  by  degrees  opened 
His  eyes  upon  this  outer  world,  and  drank  in  its  beauty. 
Early  He  felt  the  lily  of  the  field  discourse  to  Him  of 
the  Invisible  Loveliness,  and  the  ravens  tell  of  God 
His  Father.  Gradually,  and  not  at  once.  He  embraced 
the  sphere  of  human  duties,  and  woke  to  His  earthly 
relationships  one  by  one  —  the  Son,  the  Brother,  the 
Citizen,  the  Master. 

It  is  a  very  deep  and  beautiful  and  precious  truth 
that  the  Eternal  Son  had  a  human  and  progressive 
childhood.  Happy  the  child  who  is  suffered  to  be  and 
content  to  be  what  God  meant  it  to  be  —  a  child  while 
childhood  lasts.  Happy  the  parent  who  does  not  force 
artificial  manners,  precocious  feeling,  premature  re- 
ligion. Our  age  is  one  of  stimulus  and  high  press- 
ure. We  live,  as  it  were,  our  lives  out  fast.  Effect  is 
everything, —  results  produced  at  once  ;  something  to 
show  and  something  that  may  tell.  The  folio  of  patient 
years  is  replaced  by  the  pamphlet  that  stirs  men's  curi- 
osity to-day,  and  to-morrow  is  forgotten.  "  Plain 
19 


218  THE   EARLY   DEVELOPMENT    OF   JESUS. 

living  aud  high  thinking  are  no  more."  The  town, 
with  its  fever  and  its  excitements,  and  its  collision  of 
mind  with  mind,  has  spread  over  the  country ;  and 
there  is  no  country  —  scarcely  home.  To  men  who 
traverse  England  in  a  few  hours,  and  spend  only  a  por- 
tion of  the  year  in  one  place.  Home  is  becoming  a 
vocable  of  past  ages. 

The  result  is,  that  heart  and  brain,  which  were  given 
to  last  for  seventy  years,  wear  out  before  their  time. 
"We  have  our  exhausted  men  of  twenty-five,  and  our 
old  men  of  forty.  Heart  and  brain  give  way,  —  the 
heart  hardens  and  the  brain  grows  soft. 

Brethren  !  the  Son  of  God  lived  till  thirty  in  an  ob- 
scure village  of  Judea  unknown,  then  came  forth  a 
matured  and  perfect  Man,  —  with  mind,  and  heart,  and 
frame,  in  perfect  balance  of  humanity.  It  is  a  Divine 
lesson !  I  would  I  could  say  as  strongly  as  I  feel 
deeply.  Our  stimulating  artificial  culture  destroys 
depth.  Our  competition,  our  nights  turned  into  days 
by  pleasure,  leave  no  time  for  earnestness.  We 
are  superficial  men.  Character  in  the  world  wants 
root.  England  has  gained  much;  she  has  lost,  also, 
much.  The  world  wants  what  has  passed  away ;  and 
which,  until  we  secure,  we  shall  remain  the  clever 
shallow  men  we  are,  —  a  childhood  and  a  youth  spent 
in  shade  —  a  Home. 

Now,  this  growth  took  place  in  three  particulars. 

I.  In  spiritual  strength.  "  The  child  waxed  strong 
in  spirit." 

Spiritual  strength  consists  of  two  things  —  power 
of  Will,  and  power  of  Self  restraint.     It  requires  two 


THE  EARLZ   DEVELOPMENT   OF   JESUS.  219 

things,  therefore,  for  its  existence  —  strong  feelings, 
and  strong  command  over  them. 

Now,  it  is  here  we  make  a  great  mistake ;  we  mis- 
take strong  feeKngs  for  strong  character.  A  man  who 
bears  all  before  him,  —  before  whose  frown  domestics 
tremble,  and  whose  bursts  of  fury  make  the  children 
of  the  house  quake,  —  because  he  has  his  will  obeyed, 
and  his  own  way  in  all  things,  we  call  him  a  strong 
mau.  The  truth  is,  that  is  the  weak  man :  it  is  his  pas 
sions  that  are  strong ;  he,  mastered  by  them,  is  weak. 
You  must  measure  the  strength  of  a  man  by  the  power 
of  the  feelings  which  he  subdues,  not  by  the  power 
of  those  which  subdue  him. 

And  hence  composure  is  very  often  the  highest 
result  of  strength.  Did  we  never  see  a  man  receive 
a  flagrant  insult,  and  only  grow  a  little  pale,  and  then 
reply  quietly?  That  was  a  man  spiritually  strong. 
Or,  did  we  never  see  a  man,  in  anguish,  stand  as  if 
carved  out  of  solid  rock  mastering  himself?  or,  one 
bearing  a  hopeless  daily  trial,  remain  silent,  and  never 
tell  the  world  what  it  was  that  cankered  his  home- 
peace?  That  is  strength.  He  who,  with  strong  pas- 
sions, remains  chaste, —  he  who,  keenly  sensitive,  with 
manly  power  of  indignation  in  him,  can  be  provoked, 
and  yet  refrain  himself,  and  forgive,  —  these  are  strong 
men,  spiritual  heroes. 

The  child  luaxed  strong,  —  spiritual  strength  is 
reached  by  successive  steps.  Fresh  strength  is  got 
by  every  mastery  of  self  It  is  the  belief  of  the  sav- 
age, that  the  spirit  of  every  enemy  he  slays  enters 
into  him  and  becomes  added  to  his  own,  accumulating 
a  warrior's  strength  for  the  day  of  battle  ;  therefore  he 
slays  all  he  can.     It  is  true   in  tlio  spiritual  warfare. 


220  THE   EARLY   DEVELOPMENT   OF  JESUS. 

Every  sin  yoii  slay,  the  spirit  of  that  sin  passes  into 
you  transformed  into  strength;  every  passion,  not 
merely  kept  in  abeyance  by  asceticism,  but  subdued 
by  a  higher  impulse,  is  so  much  character  strength- 
ened. The  strength  of  the  passion  not  expended  is 
yours  still.  Understand,  then,  you  are  not  a  man  of 
spiritual  power  because  your  impulses  are  irresistible. 
They  sT?3p  over  your  soul  like  a  tornado  —  lay  all 
flat  bet  jre  them  —  whereupon  you  feel  a  secret  pride 
of  strength.  Last  week  men  saw  a  vessel  on  this 
coast  borne  headlong  on  the  breakers,  and  dashing 
itself  with  terrific  force  against  the  shore.  It  em- 
bedded itself,  a  miserable  wreck,  deep  in  sand  and  shin- 
gle. Was  that  brig,  in  her  convulsive  throes,  strong? 
or,  was  it  powerless  and  helpless  ? 

No,  my  brethren:  God's  spirit  in  the  soul,  —  an 
inward  power  of  doing  the  thing  we  will  and  ought,  — 
that  is  strength,  nothing  else.  All  other  force  in  us 
is  only  our  weakness,  —  the  violence  of  driving  Pas- 
sion. "  I  can  do  all  things  through  Christ,  who 
strengtheneth  me,"  —  that  is  Christian  strength.  "  T 
cannot  do  the  things  I  would,"  —  that  is  the  weakness 
of  \Q.  unredeemed  slave. 

1  instance  one  single  evidence  of  strength  in  tho 
early  years  of  Jesus  ;  I  find  it  in  that  calm,  long  wait- 
ing of  thirty  years  before  He  began  His  Work.  And 
yet  all  the  evils  He  was  to  redress  were  there,  provok- 
ing indignation,  crying  for  interference,  —  the  hollow- 
ness  of  social  life,  the  misinterpretations  of  Scripture, 
the  forms  of  worship  and  phraseology  which  had  hid- 
den moral  truth,  the  injustice,  the  priestcraft,  the  cow- 
ardice, the  hypocrisies :  He  had  long  seen  them  all. 

AU  those  years  His  soul  burned  within  him  with  a 


THE  EARLY   DEVELOPMENT   OF   JESUS.  221 

Divine  zeal  and  heavenly  indignation.  A  mere  man 
—  a  weak,  emotional  man,  of  spasmodic  feeling,  —  a 
hot  enthusiast,  —  would  have  spoken  out  at  once,  and 
at  once  been  crushed.  The  Everlasting  Word  incar- 
nate bided  His  own  time :  "  Mine  hour  is  not  yet 
come,"  —  matured  His  energies,  condensed  them  by 
repression,  and  then  went  forth  to  speak,  and  do,  and 
suffer.  His  hour  was  come.  This  is  strength :  the 
power  of  a  Divine  Silence ;  the  strong  will,  to  keep 
force  till  it  is  wanted ;  the  power  to  wait  God's  time. 
"  He  that  believeth,"  said  the  wise  prophet,  "  shall  not 
make  haste." 

n.  Growth  in  wisdom, —  "filled  with  wisdom." 
Let  us  distinguish  wisdom  from  two  things.  From 
information  first.  It  is  one  thing  to  be  well  informed ; 
it  is  another  to  be  wise.  Many  books  read,  innumer- 
aole  facts  hived  up  in  a  capacious  memory,  this  does 
not  constitute  wisdom.  Books  give  it  not ;  sometimes 
the  bitterest  experience  gives  it  not.  Many  a  heart- 
break may  have  come  as  the  result  of  life-errors  and 
life-mistakes,  and  yet  men  may  be  no  wiser  than  be- 
fore. Before  the  same  temptations  they  fall  again  in 
the  self-same  way  they  fell  before.  Where  they  erred 
in  youth  they  err  still  in  age  —  a  mournful  truth ! 
"  Ever  learning,"  said  St.  Paul,  "  and  never  able  to 
come  to  a  knowledge  of  the  truth," 

Distinguish  wisdom  again  from  talent.  Brilliancy  of 
powers  is  not  the  wisdom  for  which  Solomon  prayed. 
Wisdom  is  of  the  heart  rather  than  the  intellect ;  the 
harvest  of  moral  thoughtfulness,  patiently  reaped  in 
through  years.  Two  things  are  required  —  Earnest- 
ness and  Love.  First,  that  rare  thing,  Earnestness, — 
19* 


222  THE   EARLY   DEVELOPMENT   OF  JESUS. 

the  earnestness  which  looks  on  life  practically.  Some 
of  the  wisest  of  the  race  have  been  men  who  have 
scarcely  stirred  beyond  home,  read  little,  felt  and 
thought  much.  "  Give  me,"  said  Solomon,  "  a  wise 
and  understanding  heart."  A  heart  which  ponders 
upon  life,  trying  to  understand  its  mystery,  not  in 
order  to  talk  about  it  like  an  orator,  nor  in  order  to 
theorize  about  it  like  a  philosopher,  but  in  order  to 
know  how  to  live  and  how  to  die. 

And,  besides  this,  love  is  required  for  wisdom,  — • 
the  love  which  opens  the  heart  and  makes  it  generous, 
and  reveals  secrets  deeper  than  prudence  or  political 
economy  teaches, — for  example,  "  It  is  more  blessed 
to  give  than  to  receive."  Prudence  did  not  calculate 
that ;  love  revealed  it.  No  man  can  be  wise  without 
love.  Prudent — cunning:  yes,  but  not  wise.  Who- 
ever has  closed  his  heart  to  love  has  got  wisdom  at 
one  entrance  quite  shut  out.  A  large,  genial,  loving 
heart  —  with  that  we  have  known  a  ploughman  wise  ; 
w^ithout  it,  we  know  a  hundred  men  of  statesmen-like 
sagacity  fools  —  profound,  but  not  wise.  There  was  a 
man  who  pulled  down  his  barns  and  built  greater,  —  a 
most  sagacious  man,  getting  on  in  life,  acquiring, 
amassing,  and  all  for  self.  The  men  of  that  genera- 
tion called  him,  no  doubt,  wise  :  God  said,  "  Thou 
fool." 

Speaking  humanly,  the  steps  by  which  the  wisdom 
of  Jesus  was  acquired  were  two. 

1.  The  habit  of  inquiry.  2.  The  collision  of  mind 
with  other  minds.  Both  these  we  find  in  this  anec- 
dote :  His  parents  found  Him  with  the  doctors  in  the 
Temple,  both  hearing  and  asking  them  questions. 
For  the  mind  of  man  left  to  itself  is  unproductive  j 


THE   EARLY    DEVELOPMENT    OF    JESUS.  223 

alone  in  the  wild  woods,  he  becomes  a  savage.  Taken 
away  from  school  early,  and  sent  to  the  plough,  the 
country  boy  loses,  by  degrees,  that  which  distinguishes 
him  from  the  cattle  that  he  drives,  and  over  his  very 
features  and  looks  the  low  animal  expression  creeps. 
Mind  is  necessary  for  mind.  The  Mediatorial  sys- 
tem extends  through  all  God's  dealings  with  us. 
The  higher  man  is  the  mediator  between  God  and  the 
lower  man ;  only  through  man  can  man  receive  devel- 
opment. 

For  these  reasons,  we  call  this  event  at  Jerusalem 
a  crisis  or  turning  point  in  the  history  of  Him  who 
was  truly  Man. 

He  had  come  from  Nazareth's  quiet  valley  and 
green  slopes  on  the  hill-side,  where  hill  and  valley, 
and  cloud  and  wind,  and  day  and  night,  had  nourished 
his  child's  heart,  —  from  communion  with  minds  pro- 
verbially low,  for  the  adage  was,  "  Can  any  good  thing 
come  out  of  Nazareth?"  —  to  the  capital  of  His 
country,  to  converse  with  the  highest  and  most  culti- 
vated intellects.  He  had  many  a  question  to  ask,  and 
many  a  difficulty  to  solve.  As,  for  instance,  such  as 
this :  How  could  the  religion  accredited  in  Jerusalem 
—  a  religion  of  long  prayers  and  church  services,  and 
phylacteries,  and  rigorous  sabbaths  —  be  reconciled 
with  the  stern,  manly  righteousness  of  which  He  had 
read  in  the  old  prophets ;  a  righteousness,  not  of 
litany-makers,  but  of  men  with  swords  in  their  hands 
and  zeal  in  their  hearts,  setting  up  God's  kingdom 
upon  earth  ?  —  a  kingdom  of  Truth,  and  Justice,  and 
Realities,  —  were  they  bringing  in  that  kingdom?  — 
A.nd  if  not,  who  should?  Such  questions  had  to  bo 
felt,  and   asked,  and   pondered  on.     Thenceforth  we 


224  THE    EARLY   DEVELOPMENT    OF   JESUS. 

say,  therefore,  in  all  reverence,  dated  the  intellectual 
life  of  Jesus.  From  that  time  "  Jesus  increased  in 
wisdomJ' 

Not  that  they,  the  doctors  of  the  Temple,  contrib- 
uted much.  Those  ecclesiastical  pedants  had  not 
much  to  tell  Him  that  was  worth  the  telling.  They 
were  thinking  about  theology,  —  He  about  Religion. 
They  about  rubrics  and  church  services,  —  He  about 
God  His  Father,  and  His  Will.  And  yet  He  gained 
more  from  them  than  they  from  Him.  Have  we  never 
observed  that  the  deepest  revelations  of  ourselves  are 
often  made  to  us  by  trifling  remarks  met  with  here 
and  there  in  conversation  and  books,  —  sparks  which 
set  a  whole  train  of  thoughts  on  fire  ?  Nay,  that  a 
false  view  given  by  an  inferior  mind  has  led  us  to  a 
true  one ;  and  that  conversations  from  which  we  had 
expected  much  light,  turning  out  unsatisfactorily,  have 
thrown  us  upon  ourselves  and  God,  and  so  become 
almost  the  birth-times  of  the  soul?  The  truth  is,  it  is 
not  the  amount  which  is  poured  in  that  gives  wisdom, 
but  the  amount  of  creative  mind  and  heart  working 
on  and  stirred  by  what  is  so  poured  in.  That  conver- 
Bation  with  miserable  priests  and  formalists  called  into 
activity  the  One  Creative  Mind  which  was  to  fertilize 
the  whole  spiritual  life  of  man  to  the  end  of  time  ; 
and  Jesus  grew  in  wisdom  by  a  conversation  with 
pedants  of  the  law. 

What  Jerusalem  was  to  Him,  a  town  life  is  to  us. 
Knowledge  develops  itself  in  the  heated  atmosphere 
of  town  life.  Where  men  meet,  and  thought  clashes 
with  thought, — where  workmen  sit  round  i  board  at 
work,  —  intellectual  irritability  must  be  stirred  more 
than  where  men  live  and  work  alone.     The  march  of 


THE   EARLY   DEVELOPMENT    OF   JESUS.  225 

mind,  as  they  call  it,  must  go  on.  Whatever  evils 
there  may  be  in  our  excited,  feverish  modern  life,  it 
is  quite  certain  that  we  know  through  it  more  than 
our  forefathers  knew.  The  worlftnan  knows  more  of 
foreign  politics  than  most  statesmen  knew  two  centu- 
ries ago.  The  child  is  versed  in  theological  questions, 
which  only  occupied  master  minds  once.  But  the 
question  is,  whether,  like  the  Divine  Child  in  the  Tem- 
ple, we  are  turning  knowledge  into  wisdom ;  and 
whether,  understanding  more  of  the  mysteries  of  life, 
we  are  feeling  more  of  its  sacred  law ;  and  whether, 
having  left  behind  the  priests,  and  the  scribes,  and  the 
doctors,  and  the  fathers,  we  are  about  our  Father's 
business,  and  becoming  wise  to  God. 

III.  Growth  in  grace,  — "  the  grace  of  God  was 
upon  Him."     And  this  in  three  points : 

1.  The  exchange  of  an  earthly  for  a  heavenly  home. 

2.  Of  an  earthly  for  a  heavenly  parent. 

3.  The  reconciliation  to  domestic  duties. 

First  step  :  Exchange  of  an  earthly  for  a  heavenly 
home. 

Jesus  was  in  the  Temple  for  the  first  time.  That 
which  was  dull  routine  to  others,  through  dead  habit, 
was  full  of  vivid  impression,  fresh  life,  and  God, 
to  Him.  "  My  Father's  business  "  —  "  My  Father's 
house."  IIow  different  the  meaning  of  these  expres- 
sions now  from  what  it  had  been  before  !  Before,  all 
was  limited  to  the  cottage  of  the  carpenter ;  now,  it 
".xtended  to  the  temple.  He  had  felt  the  sanctities 
of  a  new  home.  In  after-life  the  phrase  which  He 
had  learned  by  earthly  experience  obtained  a  Divine 


226  THE   EARLY    DEVELOPMENT   OP   JESUS. 

significance.  "  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man- 
sions." 

Our  first  Hfe  is  spontaneous  and  instinctive.  Our 
second  hfe  is  reflective.  There  is  a  moment  when  the 
life  spontaneous  passes  into  the  hfe  reflective.  "We 
hve  at  first  by  instinct ;  then  we  look  in,  feel  our- 
selves, —  ask  what  we  are,  and  whence  we  came,  and 
whither  we  are  bound.  In  an  awful  new  world  of 
mystery,  and  destinies,  and  duties,  we  feel  God,  and 
know  that  our  true  home  is  our  Father's  house,  which 
has  many  mansions. 

Those  are  fearful,  solitary  moments,  in  which  the 
heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  a  stranger  inter- 
meddleth  not  with  its  joys.  Father  —  mother  —  can- 
not share  these ;  and  to  share  is  to  intrude.  The  soul 
first  meets  God  alone.  So  with  Jacob  when  he  saw 
the  dream-ladder ;  so  with  Samuel  when  the  Voice 
called  him  ;  so  with  Christ.  So,  with  every  son  of  man, 
God  visits  the  soul  in  secrecy,  in  silence,  and  in  soli- 
tariness. And  the  danger  and  duty  of  a  teacher  is 
two-fold.  1st,  to  avoid  hastening  that  feeling  —  hurry- 
ing that  crisis-moment,  which  some  call  conversion. 
2d,  to  avoid  crushing  it.  I  have  said  that  first  religion 
is  a  kind  of  instinct;  and  if  a  child  does  not  exhibit 
strong  religious  sensibilities,  —  if  he  seem  "heedless, 
untouched  by  awe  or  serious  thought," — still  it  is  wiser 
not  to  interfere.  He  may  be  still  at  home  with  God; 
he  may  be  worshipping  at  home  ;  as  has  beeo  said, 
with  not  less  truth  than  beauty,  he  may  be 

"  Lying  in  Abraham's  bosom  all  the  year. 

And  worship  —  at  the  Temple's  inner  shrine,'* 

God  being  with  him  when  he  knew  it  not.  Very  mys- 
terious, and  beautiful,  and  wonderful,  is  God's  com- 


THE   EARLY   DEVELOPMENT    OF   JESUS.  227 

muniua:  with  the  unconscious  soul  before  reflection 
comes.  The  second  caution  is  not  to  quench  the 
feehng.  Joseph  and  the  Virgin  chid  the  Child  for  Hia 
absence  :  "  Why  hast  thou  dealt  so  with  us  ?  "  They 
could  not  understand  His  altered  ways,  His  neglect  of 
apparent  duties,  His  indifference  to  usual  pursuits. 
They  mourned  over  the  change.  And  this  reminds  ua 
of  the  way  in  which  Affection's  voice  itself  ministers 
to  ruin.  When  God  comes  to  the  heart,  and  His  pres- 
ence is  shown  by  thoughtfulness,  and  seriousness,  and 
distaste  to  common  business,  and  loneliness,  and  soli- 
tary musings,  and  a  certain  tone  of  melancholy, 
straightway  we  set  ourselves  to  expostulate,  to  rebuke, 
to  cheer,  to  prescribe  amusement  and  gayeties,  as  the 
cure  for  seriousness  which  seems  out  of  place.  Some 
of  us  have  seen  that  tried ;  and,  more  fearful  still, 
seen  it  succeed.  And  we  have  seen  the  spirit  of  frivol- 
ity and  thoughtlessness,  which  had  been  banished  for 
a  time,  come  back  again,  with  seven  spirits  of  evil 
more  mighty  than  himself,  and  the  last  state  of  that 
person  worse  than  the  first.  And  we  have  watched 
the  still  small  voice  of  God  in  the  soul  silenced.  And 
we  have  seen  the  spirit  of  the  world  get  its  victim 
back  again,  and  incipient  Goodness  dried  up  like  morn- 
ing dew  upon  his  heart.  And  they  that  loved  him  did 
it  —  his  parents,  his  teachers.  They  quenched  the 
=raoking  flax,  and  turned  out  the  lamp  of  God  lighted 
in  the  soul. 

The  last  step  was  reconciliation  to  domestic  duties. 
He  went  down  to  Nazareth,  and  was  subject  unto 
them.  The  first  step  in  spirituality  is  to  get  a  distaste 
for  common  duties.  There  is  a  time  when  creeds^ 
ceremonies,  services,  are  distasteful ;  when  the  conveiv 


228  THE    EARLY   DEVELOPMENT    OF   JESUS. 

tional  arrangements  of  society  are  intolerable  burdens; 
and  when,  aspiring  with  a  sense  of  vague  longing 
after  a  goodness  which  shall  be  immeasurable,  a  duty 
which  shall  transcend  mere  law,  a  something  which  we 
cannot  put  in  words,  all  restraints  of  rule  and  habit 
gaU  the  spirit.  But  the  last  and  highest  step  in  spirit- 
uality is  made  in  feeling  these  common  duties  again 
divine  and  holy.  This  is  the  true  liberty  of  Christ, 
when  a  free  man  binds  himself  in  love  to  duty.  Not 
in  shrinking  from  our  distasteful  occupations,  but  in 
fulfilling  them,  do  we  realize  our  high  origin.  And 
this  is  the  blessed  second  childhood  of  Christian  life. 
All  the  several  stages  towards  it  seem  to  be  shadowed 
forth  with  accurate  truthfulness  in  the  narrative  of  the 
Messiah's  infancy.  First,  the  quiet,  unpretending,  un- 
conscious obedience  and  innocence  of  home.  Then, 
the  crisis  of  inquiry ;  new,  strange  thoughts,  entrance 
upon  a  new  world,  hopeless  seeking  of  truth  from 
those  who  cannot  teach  it,  hearing  many  teachers,  and 
questioning  all ;  thence  bewilderment  and  bitterness, 
loss  of  relish  for  fonner  duties ;  and  small  consolation 
to  a  man  in  knowing  that  he  is  further  off  from  heaven 
than  when  he  was  a  boy.  And  then,  lastly,  the  true 
reconciliation  and  atonement  of  our  souls  to  God  —  a 
second  spring-tide  of  life,  a  second  Faith  deeper  than 
that  of  childhood,  not  instinctive,  but  conscious  tiust, 
childhke  love  come  back  again,  childlike  wonder, 
childlike  implicitness  of  obedience,  only  deeper  than 
childhood  ever  knew.  "When  life  has  got  a  new  mean- 
ing; when  "  old  things  are  passed  away,  and  all  thingts 
•ire  become  new ; "  when  earth  has  become  irradiate 
with  the  feeling  of  our  Father's  business  and  our 
Father's  Home. 


XVI. 

[Preached  January  9,  1853.] 

CHRIST'S    ESTIMATE    OF    SIN 

Luke  xix.  10.  —  "The  Son  of  Man  is  come  to  seek  and  tc   save  that 
which  was  lost." 

These  words  occur  in  the  history  which  tells  of  the 
recovery  of  Zaccheus  from  a  life  of  worldliness  to  the 
life  of  God.  Zaccheus  was  a  publican ;  and  the  pub- 
licans were  outcasts  among  the  Jews,  because,  having 
accepted  the  office,  under  the  Roman  government,  of 
collecting  the  taxes  imposed  by  Rome  upon  their 
brethren,  they  were  regarded  as  traitors  to  the  cause 
of  Israel.  Reckoned  a  degraded  class,  they  became 
degraded.  It  is  hard  for  any  man  to  live  above  the 
moral  standard  acknowledged  by  his  own  class ;  and 
the  moral  standard  of  the  publican  was  as  low  as  pos- 
sible. The  first  step  downwards  is  to  sink  in  the  esti- 
mation of  others,  —  the  next,  and  fatal  step,  is  to  sink 
in  a  man's  own  estimation.  The  value  of  character  is, 
that  it  pledges  men  to  be  what  they  are  taken  for.  It 
is  a  fearful  thing  to  have  no  character  to  support  — 
nothing  to  fall  back  upon,  nothing  to  keep  a  man  up 
to  himself.     Now,  the  publicans  had  no  character. 

Into  the  house  of  one  of  these  outcasts  the  Son  of 
Man  had  entered.  It  was  quite  certain  that  such  an 
20  (229) 


230  Christ's  estimate  of  sin. 

act  would  be  commented  upon  severely  by  people  who 
called  themselves  religious ;  it  would  seem  to  them 
scandalous,  an  outrage  upon  decency,  a  defiance  to 
every  rule  of  respectability  and  decorum.  No  pious 
Israelite  would  be  seen  holding  equal  intercourse  with 
a  publican.  In  anticipation  of  such  remarks,  before 
there  was  time,  perhaps,  to  make  them,  Jesus  spoke 
these  words :  "  The  Son  of  Man  is  come  to  seek  and 
to  save  that  which  was  lost." 

They  exhibit  the  peculiar  aspect  in  which  the  Re- 
deemer contemplated  sin. 

There  are  two  ways  of  looking  at  sin :  One  is  the 
severe  view.  It  makes  no  allowance  for  frailty  ;  it  will 
not  hear  of  temptation,  nor  distinguish  between  cir- 
cumstances. Men  who  judge  in  this  way  shut  their 
eyes  to  all  but  two  objects,  —  a  plain  law,  and  a  trans- 
gression of  that  law.  There  is  no  more  to  be  said  : 
let  the  law  take  its  course.  Now,  if  this  be  the  right 
view  of  sin,  there  is  abundance  of  room  left  for  admir- 
ing what  is  good,  and  honorable,  and  upright;  there  is 
positively  no  room  provided  for  restoration.  Happy 
if  you  have  done  well ;  but  if  ill,  then  nothing  is 
before  you  but  judgment  and  fiery  indignation. 

The  other  view  is  one  of  laxity  and  false  liberalism. 
When  such  men  speak,  prepare  yourself  to  hear 
liberal  judgments  and  lenient  ones  ;  a  great  deal  about 
human  weakness,  error  in  judgment,  mistakes,  an  unfc 
tunate  constitution,  on  which  the  chief  blame  of  sin  is 
to  rest  —  a  good  heart.  All  well,  if  we  wanted,  in  this 
mysterious  struggle  of  a  life,  only  consolation.  But 
we  want  far  beyond  comfort,  —  Goodness  ;  and  to  be 
merely  made  easy  when  we  have  done  wrong  will  not 
lielp  us  to  that  I 


CHRIST'S   ESTIMATE   OF   SIN.  231 

Distinct  from  both  of  these  was  Christ's  view  of 
guilt.  His  standard  of  Right  was  high,  —  higher  than 
ever  man  had  placed  it  before.  Not  moral  excellence, 
but  heavenly,  He  demanded.  "  Except  your  right- 
eousness shall  exceed  the  righteousness  of  the  Scribes 
and  Pharisees,  ye  shall  in  no  case  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  heaven,"  Read  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  It 
tells  of  a  purity  as  of  snow  resting  on  an  Alpine  pin- 
nacle, white  in  the  blue  holiness  of  heaven  ;  and  yet, 
also,  He,  the  All-pure,  had  tenderness  for  what- was 
not  pure.  He  who  stood  in  Divine  uprightness  that 
never  faltered  felt  compassion  for  the  ruined,  and 
infinite  gentleness  for  human  fall.  Broken,  disap- 
pointed, doubting  hearts,  in  dismay  and  bewilderment, 
never  looked  in  vain  to  Him.  Very  strange,  if  we 
stop  to  think  of  it,  instead  of  repeating  it,  as  a  matter 
of  course.  For  generally  human  goodness  repels  from 
it  evil  men  ;  they  shun  the  society  and  presence  of 
men  reputed  good,  as  owls  fly  from  light.  But  here 
was  purity  attracting  evil ;  that  was  the  wonder.  Har- 
lots and  wretches  steeped  in  infamy  gathered  round 
Him.  No  wonder  the  purblind  Pharisees  thought 
there  must  be  something  in  Him  like  such  sinners 
which  drew  them  so.  Like  draws  to  like.  If  He 
chose  their  society  before  that  of  the  Pharisees,  was 
it  not  because  of  some  congeniality  in  Evil  ?  But  they 
did  crowd  His  steps,  and  that  because  they  saw  a 
hope  opened  out  in  a  hopeless  world  for  fallen  spirits 
and  broken  hearts, — ay,  and  seared  hearts.  The  Son 
of  Man  was  forever  standing  among  the  lost ;  and  His 
ever-predominant  feelings  were  sadness  for  the  evil  in 
human  nature,  hope  for  the  Divine  good  in  it,  and  tho 
Divine  image  never  worn  out  wholly. 


232  Christ's  estimate  of  sin. 

1  perceive  in  this  description  three  pecuHarities^ 
distinguishing  Christ  from  ordinary  men. 

I.  A  pecuharity  in  the  constitution  of  the  Redeem 
er's  moral  nature. 

II.  A  peculiarity  in  the  objects  of  His  solicitude. 
II  ,  A  peculiarity  in  His  way  of  treating  guilt. 

I.  In  His  moral  constitution.  Manifested  in  that 
peculiar  title  which  He  assumed  —  The  Son  of  Man. 

Let  us  see  what  that  implies. 

1.  It  implies  fairly  His  Divine  origin;  for  it  is  an 
emphatic  expression,  and,  as  we  may  so  say,  an  unnatu- 
ral one.  Imagine  an  apostle  —  St.  Paul  or  St.  John  — 
insisting  upon  it  pei'petually  that  he  himself  was 
human.  It  would  almost  provoke  a  smile  to  hear 
either  of  them  averring  and  affirming,  I  am  the  Son  of 
Man  ;  it  would  be  unnatural,  the  affectation  of  conde- 
scension would  be  intolerable.  Therefore,  when  we 
hear  these  words  from  Christ,  we  are  compelled  to 
think  of  them  as  contrasted  with  a  higher  Nature. 
None  could,  without  presumption,  remind  men  that  He 
was  their  Brother,  and  a  Son  of  Man,  except  One,  who 
was  also  something  higher,  even  the  Son  of  God. 

2  It  implies  the  catholicity  of  His  Brotherhood. 
Nothing,  in  the  judgment  of  historians,  stands  out  so 

sharply  distinct  as  race,  —  national  character ;  noth- 
ing is  more  ineffaceable.  The  Hebrew  was  marked 
from  all  mankind.  The  Roman  was  perfectly  distinct 
from  the  Grecian  character  ;  as  markedly  different  as 
the  rough  English  truthfulness  is  from  Celtic  brilliancy 
of  talent.  Now,  these  peculiar  nationalities  are  sel- 
dom combined.  You  rarely  find  the  stern  old  Jewish 
sense  of  holiness  going  together  with  the  Athenian 


CHRIST'S   ESTIMATE   OF   SIN.  233 

eensitiveness  of  what  is  beautiful.  Not  often  do  you 
find  together  severe  truth  and  refined  tenderness. 
BrilHancy  seems  opposed  to  perseverance.  Exquisite- 
ness  of  Taste  commonly  goes  along  with  a  certain 
amount  of  untruthfulness.  By  Humanity,  as  a  whole, 
we  mean  the  aggregate  of  all  these  separate  excel- 
lences. Only  in  two  places  are  they  all  found  together, 
—  in  the  universal  human  race  and  in  Jesus  Christ. 
fle  having,  as  it  were,  a  whole  humanity  in  Himself, 
combines  them  all. 

Now.  this  is  the  universality  of  the  Nature  of  Jesus 
Christ.  There  was  in  Him  no  national  peculiarity  or 
individual  idiosyncrasy.  He  was  not  the  Son  of  the 
Jew,  nor  the  Son  of  the  Carpenter,  nor  the  ofi'spring 
of  the  modes  of  living  and  thinking  of  that  particu- 
lar century.  He  was  the  Son  of  Man.  Once  in  the 
world's  history  was  born  a  Man.  Once  in  the  roll  of 
ages,  out  of  innumerable  failures,  from  the  stock 
of  human  nature  one  Bud  developed  itself  into  a 
faultless  Flower.  One  perfect  specimen  of  humanity 
has  God  exhibited  on  earth. 

The  best  and  most  catholic  of  Englishmen  has  hia 
prejudices.  All  the  world  over,  our  greatest  writer 
would  be  recognized  as  having  the  English  cast  of 
thought.  The  pattern  Jew  would  seem  Jewish  every- 
where but  in  Judea.  Take  Abraham,  St.  John,  S*" 
Paul,  place  them  where  you  will, — in  China  or  in  Peru, 
— they  are  Hebrews  ;  they  could  not  command  all  sym 
pathies ;  their  life  could  not  be  imitable  except  in  part. 
They  are  foreigners  in  every  land,  and  out  of  place  in 
every  century,  but  their  own.  But  Christ  is  the  king 
of  men,  and  "  draws  all  men,"  because  all  character  is 
in  Him,  separate  from  nationalities  and  limitations.  As 
20* 


'234  Christ's  estimate  of  sin. 

if  the  life-blood  of  every  nation  were  in  His  veina, 
and  that  which  is  best  and  truest  in  every  man,  and 
that  which  is  tenderest  and  gentlest  and  purest  in 
every  woman,  in  His  character.  He  is  emphatically 
the  Son  of  Man. 

Out  of  this  arose  two  powers  of  His  sacred  human- 
ity, —  the  universality  of  His  sympathies,  and  their 
intense  particular  personality. 

The  universality  of  His  sympathies :  for,  compare 
Him  with  any  one  of  the  sacred  characters  of  Scrip- 
ture. You  know  how  intensely  national  they  were, 
priests,  prophets,  and  apostles,  in  their  sympathies. 
For  example,  the  apostles  "  marvelled  that  He  spake 
with  a  woman  of  Samaria;" — just  before  His  resur- 
rection, their  largest  charity  had  not  reached  beyond 
this,  —  "Lord,  wilt  thou  at  this  time  restore  the  king- 
dom unto  Israel  ?  "  Or,  to  come  down  to  modern  times, 
when  His  spirit  has  been  moulding  men's  ways  of 
thought  for  many  ages  ;  —  now,  when  we  talk  of  our 
philanthropy  and  catholic  liberality,  here  in  Christian 
England,  we  have  scarcely  any  fellow-feeling,  true  and 
genuine,  with  other  nations,  other  churches,  other 
parties,  than  our  own  ;  we  care  nothing  for  Italian  or 
Hungarian  struggles  ;  we  think  of  Romanists  as  the 
Jew  thought  of  Gentiles  ;  we  speak  of  German  Prot- 
estants in  the  same  proud,  wicked,  self-sufficient  way 
in  which  the  Jew  spoke  of  Samaritans. 

Unless  we  bring  such  matters  home,  and  away  from 
vague  generalities,  and  consider  what  we  and  all  men 
are,  or  rather  are  not,  we  cannot  comprehend  with 
due  wonder  the  mighty  sympathies  of  the  heart  of 
Christ.  None  of  the  miserable  antipathies  that  fence 
us  from  all  the  world  bounded  the  outgoings  of  that 


Christ's  estimate  of  sin.  235 

Love,  broad,  and  deep,  and  wide  as  the  heart  of  God. 
Wherever  the  mysterious  pulse  of  human  life  was 
beating,  wherever  aughi  human  was  in  struggle,  therp 
to  Him  was  a  thing  not  common  or  unclean,  but 
cleansed  by  God  and  sacred.  Compare  the  daily, 
almost  indispensable  language  of  our  life  with  His 
spirit.  "  Conmion  people?"  —  Point  us  out  the  pas- 
sage where  he  called  any  people,  that  God  His  Father 
made,  common?  "Lower  Orders?"  —  Tell  us  when 
and  where  He,  whose  home  was  the  workshop  of  the 
carpenter,  authorized  jou  or  me  to  know  any  man 
after  the  flesh  as  low  or  high  ?  To  Him  who  called 
Himself  the  Son  of  Man,  the  link  was  manhood.  And 
that  He  could  discern  even  when  it  was  marred.  Even 
in  outcasts  His  eye  could  recognize  the  sanctities  of  a 
nature  human  still.  Even  in  the  harlot,  "  one  of  Eve's 
family  ;  "  —  a  son  of  Abraham  even  in  Zaccheus. 

Once  more,  out  of  that  universal,  catholic  Nature 
rose  another  power,  —  the  power  of  intense,  particular, 
personal  afiections.  He  was  the  Brother  and  Saviour 
of  the  human  race ;  but  this  because  He  was  the 
Brother  and  Saviour  of  every  separate  man  in  it. 

Now,  it  is  very  easy  to  feel  great  affection  for  a 
country  as  a  whole ;  to  have,  for  instance,  great  sym- 
pathies for  Poland,  or  Ireland,  or  America,  and  yet  not 
care  a  whit  for  any  single  man  in  Poland,  and  to  have 
strong  antipathies  to  every  single  individual  American. 
Easy  to  be  a  warm  lover  of  England,  and  yet  not  love  one 
living  Englishman.  Easy  to  set  a  great  value  on  a  flock 
of  sheep,  and  yet  have  no  particular  care  for  any  one 
sheep  or  lamb.  If  it  were  killed,  another  of  the  same 
species  might  replace  it.  Easy  to  have  fine,  largo, 
liberal  views  about  the  working-classes,  or  tue  emauci* 


236  cheist's  estimate  of  sin. 

pation  of  the  negroes,  and  yet  never  have  done  a 
loving  act  to  one.  Easy  to  be  a  great  philanthropist, 
^d  yet  have  no  strong  friendships,  no  deep  personal 
attachments. 

For  the  idea  of  an  universal  Manlike  sympathy  was 
not  new  when  Christ  was  born.  The  reality  was  new. 
But  before  this,  in  the  Roman  theatre,  deafening  ap- 
plause was  called  forth  by  this  sentence,  —  "I  am  a 
man,  —  nothing  that  can  affect  man  is  indifferent  to 
me."  A  fine  sentiment  —  that  was  all.  Every  pretence 
of  realizing  that  sentiment,  except  one,  has  been  a 
failure.  One,  and  but  one,  has  succeeded  in  loving 
man  —  and  that  by  loving  men.  No  sublime  high- 
sounding  language  in  His  lips  about  educating  the 
masses,  or  elevating  the  people.  The  charlatanry  of 
our  modern  sentiment  had  not  appeared  then ;  it  is  but 
the  parody  of  His  Love. 

What  was  His  mode  of  sympathy  with  men  ?  He 
did  not  sit  down  to  philosophize  about  the  progress 
of  the  species,  or  dream  about  a  millennium.  He 
gathered  round  Him  twelve  men.  He  formed  one 
friendship,  special,  concentrated,  deep.  He  did  not 
give  Himself  out  as  the  Leader  of  the  Publican's 
cause,  or  the  Champion  of  the  Rights  of  the  dangerous 
classes :  but  he  associated  with  Himself  Matthew,  a 
publican  called  from  the  detested  receipt  of  custom ; 
he  went  into  the  house  of  Zaccheus,  and  treated  him 
like  a  fellow-creature,  a  brother,  and  a  son  of  Abi-a- 
ham.  His  catholicity,  or  philanthropy,  was  not  an 
abstraction,  but  an  aggregate  of  personal  attachments. 

n.  Peculiarity  in  the  objects  of  Christ's  solicitude. 
He  had  come  to  seek  and  to  save  the  "  lost."     The 


CHRIST'S  ESTIMATE   OP   SIX.  237 

world  is  lost,  and  Christ  came  to  save  the  world.  But, 
by  the  lost  in  this  place,  He  does  not  mean  the  world ; 
He  means  a  special  class,  lost  in  a  more  than  common 
sense,  as  sheep  are  lost  which  have  strayed  from  the 
flock,  and  wandered  far  beyond  all  their  fellows  scat- 
tered in  the  wilderness. 

Some  men  are  lost  by  the  force  of  their  own  pas- 
sions :  as  Balaam  was  by  love  of  gold  ;  as  Saul  was  by 
self-will  ending  in  jealousy,  and  pride  darkened  into 
madness ;  as  Haman  was  by  envy  indulged  and 
brooded  on ;  as  the  harlots  were,  through  feelings 
pure  and  high  at  first,  inverted  and  perverted ;  as 
Judas  was  by  secret  dishonesty,  undetected  in  its  first 
beginnings  —  the  worst  misfortune  that  can,  befall  a 
tendency  to  a  false  life.  And  others  are  lost  by  the 
entanglement  of  outward  circumstances,  which  make 
escape,  humanly  speaking,  impossible.  Such  were  the 
publicans,  —  men  forced^  like  executioners,  into  degra- 
dation. An  honest  publican,  or  a  holy  executioner, 
would  be  miracles  to  marvel  at.  And  some  are  lost  by 
the  laws  of  society,  which,  defending  society,  have  no 
mercy  for  its  outcasts,  and  forbid  their  return  —  fallen 
once  forever. 

Society  has  power  to  bind  on  earth ;  and  what  it 
binds  is  bound  upon  the  soul  indeed. 

For  a  man  or  woman  who  has  lost  self-respect  is  lost 
indeed. 

And,  0  I  the  untold  world  of  agony  contained  in 
that  expression  —  "a  lost  soul  !  "  —  agony  exactly  in 
proportion  to  the  nobleness  of  original  powers.  For 
it  is  a  strange  and  mournful  truth,  that  the  qualities 
which  calculate  to  shine  are  exactly  those  which  min- 
ister to  the  worst  ruin.     God's  highest  gifts,  —  talent. 


238  Christ's  estimate  of  sin. 

beauty,  feeling,  imagination,  power,  —  they  carry  with 
them  the  possibility  of  the  highest  heaven  and  the 
lowest  hell.  Be  sure  that  it  is  by  that  which  is  highest 
in  you  that  you  may  be  lost.  It  is  the  awful  warning, 
and  not  the  excuse  of  evil,  that  the  light  which  leads 
astray  is  light  from  heaven.  The  shallow  jBshing-boat 
glides  safely  over  the  reefs  where  the  noble  bark 
strands  :  it  is  the  very  might  and  majesty  of  her  careei 
that  bury  the  sharp  rock  deeper  in  her  bosom.  There 
are  thousands  who  are  not  lost  (like  the  respectable 
Pharisees),  because  they  had  no  impetuous  impulses 
—  no  passion  —  no  strong  enthusiasm,  by  the  perver- 
sion of  which  they  could  be  lost. 

Now,  this  will  explain  to  us  what  there  was  in  these 
lost  ones  which  left  a  hope  for  their  salvation,  and 
which  Jesus  saw  in  them  to  seek  and  save.  Outwardly 
men  saw  a  crust  of  black  scowling  impenitence  —  rep- 
robates, they  called  them.  Below  that  outward  crust 
ran  a  hot  lava-stream  of  anguish.  What  was  that? 
The  coward  fear  of  hell  ?  Nay,  hardened  men  defy 
hell.  The  anguish  of  the  lost  ones  of  this  world  is  not 
fear  of  punishment.  It  was  and  is  the  misery  of  hav- 
ing quenched  a  light  brighter  than  the  sun ;  the  intol- 
erable sense  of  being  sunk ;  the  remorse  of  knowing 
that  they  were  not  what  they  might  have  been.  And 
He  saw  that ;  He  knew  it  was  the  germ  of  Hfe,  which 
God's  spirit  could  develop  into  salvation. 

It  was  His  work  and  His  desire  to  save  such ;  and  in 
this  world  a  new  and  strange  solicitude  it  was,  for  the 
world  had  seen  before  nothing  like  it. 

Not  half  a  century  ago,  a  great  man  was  seen  stoop- 
ing and  working  in  a  charnel-house  of  bones.  Un- 
couth, uameless  fragments  lay  around  him,  which  the 


CHRIST'S   ESTIMATE   OF   SIN.  239 

workmen  had  dug  up  and  thrown  aside  as  rubbish. 
They  belonged  to  some  far-back  age,  and  no  man  knew 
what  they  were  or  whence  —  few  men  cared.  The 
world  was  merry  at  the  sight  of  a  philosopher  groping 
among  mouldy  bones.  But  when  that  creative  mind, 
reverently  discerning  the  fontal  types  of  living  being 
in  diverse  shapes,  brought  together  those  strange  frag- 
ments, bone  to  bone,  and  rib  to  claw,  and  tooth  to  its 
own  corresponding  vertebra,  re-combining  the  won- 
drous forms  of  past  ages,  and  presenting  each  to  the 
astonished  world  as  it  moved  and  lived  a  hundred 
thousand  ages  back,  then  men  began  to  perceive  that 
a  new  science  had  begun  on  earth. 

And  such  was  the  work  of  Christ.  They  saw  Him 
at  work  among  the  fragments  and  mouldering  wreck 
of  our  humanity,  and  sneered.  But  He  took  the  dry 
bones  such  as  Ezekiel  saw  in  Vision,  which  no  man 
thought  could  live,  and  He  breathed  into  them  the 
breath  of  life.  He  took  the  scattered  fragments  of 
our  ruined  nature ;  interpreted  their  meaning,  showed 
the  original  intent  of  those  powers,  which  were  now 
destructive  only ;  drew  out  from  publicans  and  sinners 
yearnings  which  were  incomprehensible,  and  feelings 
which  were  misunderstood ;  vindicated  the  beauty  of 
the  original  intention ;  showed  the  Divine  Order  below 
the  chaos ;  exhibited  to  the  world  once  more  a  human 
soul  in  the  form  in  which  God  had  made  it,  saying  to 
the  dry  bones,  "  Live  !  " 

Only  what  in  the  great  foreigner  was  a  taste,  in 
Christ  was  love.  In  the  one,  the  gratification  of  an 
enlightened  curiosity;  in  the  other,  the  gratification 
of  a  sublime  affection.  In  the  philosopher,  it  was  a 
longing  to  restore  and  reproduce  the  past ;  in  Christ, 


240-  cheist's  estimate  of  sin. 

a  hope  for  the  future, — "  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which 
was  lost." 

III.  A  peculiarity  in  His  mode  of  treatment.  How 
were  those  lost  ones  to  be  restored?  The  human 
plans  are  reducible  to  three.  Government  have  tried 
chastisement  for  the  reclamation  of  offenders.  For 
ages  that  was  the  only  expedient  known  either  to 
church  or  state.  Time  has  written  upon  it  Failure. 
I  do  not  say  that  penal  severity  is  not  needful.  Per- 
haps it  is,  for  protection,  and  for  the  salutary  expres- 
sion of  indignation  against  certain  forms  of  evil.  But 
as  a  system  of  reclamation  it  has  failed.  Did  the  rack 
ever  reclaim,  in  heart,  one  heretic?  Did  the  scaffold 
ever  soften  one  felon  ?  One  universal  fact  of  history 
replies :  Where  the  penal  code  was  most  sanguinary, 
and  when  punishments  were  most  numerous,  crime 
was  most  abundant. 

Again,  society  has  tried  exclusion  for  life.  I  do  not 
pretend  to  say  that  it  may  not  be  needfuL  It  may  be 
necessary  to  protect  your  social  purity,  by  banishing 
offenders  of  a  certain  sort  forever.  I  only  say  for 
recovery  it  is  a  failure.  Who  ever  knew  one  case 
where  the  ban  of  exclusion  was  hopeless,  and  the 
ghame  of  that  exclusion  reformed  ?  Did  we  ever  hear 
of  a  fallen  creature  made  moral  by  despair?  Name,  if 
you  can,  the  publican  or  the  harlot,  in  any  age,  brought 
back  to  goodness  by  a  Pharisee,  or  by  the  system  of 
a  Pharisee. 

And  once  more,  some  governors  have  tried  the  sys- 
tem of  indiscriminate  lenity  :  they  forgave  great  crim- 
inals, trusting  all  the  future  to  gratitude ;  they  passed 
over  great  sins,  —  they  sent  away  the  ringleaders  of 


Christ's  estimate  of  sin.  241 

rebellion  with  honors  heaped  upon  them :  they  thought 
this  was  the  Gospel ;  they  expected  dramatic  emotion 
to  work  wonders.  How  far  this  miserable  system  haa 
succeeded,  let  those  tell  us  who  have  studied  the  his- 
tory of  our  South  African  colonies  for  the  last  twenty 
years.  We  were  tired  of  cruelty:  we  tried  senti- 
ment—  we  trusted  to  feeling.  Feeling  failed:  we 
only  made  hypocrites,  and  encouraged  rebellion  by 
impunity.  Inexorable  severity,  rigorous  banishment, 
indiscriminate  and  mere  forgivingness,  all  are  failures. 

In  Christ's  treatment  of  guilt  we  find  three  peculiar- 
ities :  sympathy,  holiness,  firmness. 

1.  By  human  sympathy.  In  the  treatment  of  Zac- 
cheus  this  was  almost  all.  We  read  of  almost  nothing 
else  as  the  instrument  of  that  wonderful  reclamation. 
One  thing  only,  —  Christ  went  to  his  house  self-invited. 
But  that  one  was  everything.  Consider  it :  Zaccheus 
was,  if  he  were  like  other  publicans,  a  hard  and  hard- 
ened man.  He  felt  people  shrink  from  him  in  the 
streets.  He  lay  under  an  imputation ;  and  we  know 
how  that  feeling  of  being  universally  suspected  and 
misinterpreted  makes  a  man  bitter,  sarcastic,  and  de- 
fiant. And  so  the  outcast  would  go  home,  look  at  his 
gold,  rejoice  in  the  revenge  he  could  take  by  false 
accusations ;  felt  a  pride  in  knowing  that  they  might 
hate,  but  could  not  help  fearing  him ;  scorned  the 
world,  and  shut  up  his  heart  against  it. 

At  last,  one  whom  all  men  thronged  to  see,  and  all 
men  honored,  or  seemed  to  honor,  came  to  him, — 
offered  to  go  home  and  sup  with  him.  For  the  first 
time  for  many  years,  Zaccheus  felt  that  he  was  not 
despised,  and  the  flood-gates  of  that  avaricious,  shut 
heart  were  opened  in  a  tide  of  love  and  generosity. 
21 


242  CHRIST'S   ESTIMATE    OF   SIN. 

"  Behold,  Lord,  the  half  of  my  goods  I  give  to  the 
poor;  and  if  I  have  taken  anything  from  any  man  by 
false  accusation,  I  restore  him  four-fold." 

He  was  reclaimed  to  human  feeling  by  being  taught 
that  he  was  a  man  still ;  recognized  and  treated  like  a 
man.    A  Son  of  Man  had  come  to  "  seek  "  him,  the  lost. 

2.  By  the  exhibition  of  Divine  holiness. 

The  holiness  of  Christ  differed  from  all  earthly, 
common,  vulgar  holiness.  Wherever  it  was,  it  elicited 
a  sense  of  sinfulness  and  imperfection.  Just  as 
the  purest-cut  crystal  of  the  rock  looks  dim  beside 
the  diamond,  so  the  best  men  felt  a  sense  of  guilt 
growing  distinct  upon  their  souls.  When  the  Anointed 
of  God  came  near,  "  Depart  from  me,"  said  the 
bravest  and  truest  of  them  all,  "  for  I  am  a  sinful  man, 
O  Lord." 

But,  at  the  same  time,  the  holiness  of  Christ  did 
not  awe  men  away  from  Him,  nor  repel  them.  It 
inspired  them  with  hope.  It  was  not  that  vulgar, 
unapproachable  sanctity  which  makes  men  awkward  in 
its  presence,  and  stands  aloof.  Its  peculiar  character- 
istic was,  that  it  made  men  enamored  of  goodness.  It 
"  drew  all  men  unto  Him." 

This  is  the  difference  between  greatness  that  is  first- 
rate  and  greatness  which  is  second-rate,  —  between 
heavenly  and  earthly  goodness.  The  second-rate  and 
the  earthly  draws  admiration  on  itself.  You  say, 
"  How  great  an  act,  —  how  good  a  man  !  "  The  first- 
rate  and  the  heavenly  imparts  itself,  —  inspires  a 
spirit.  You  feel  a  kindred  something  in  you  that 
rises  up  to  meet  it,  and  draws  you  out  of  yourself, 
making  you  better  than  you  were  before,  and  opening 
out  the  infinite  possibilities  of  your  life  and  soul. 


christ'3  estimate  of  sin.  243 

And  such  preeminently  was  the  holiness  of  Christ. 
Had  some  earthly  great  or  good  one  come  to  Zac- 
cheus'  house,  a  prince  or  a  nobleman,  his  feeling 
would  have  been,  What  condescension  is  there  !  But, 
when  He  came  whose  every  word  and  act  had  in 
it  Life  and  Power,  no  such  barren  reflection  was 
the  result ;  but,  instead,  the  beauty  of  holiness  had 
become  a  power  within  him,  and  a  longing  for  self- 
consecration.  "  Behold,  Lord,  the  half  of  my  goods 
I  give  to  the  poor ;  and  if  I  have  taken  anything 
from  any  man  by  false  accusation,  I  restore  him  four- 
fold." 

3.  By  Divine  sympathy,  and  by  the  Divine  Image, 
exhibited  in  the  speaking  act  of  Christ,  the  lost 
was  sought  and  saved.  He  was  saved,  as  alone  all 
fallen  men  can  be  saved.  "  Beholding  as  in  a  glass 
the  glory  of  the  Lord,  he  was  changed  into  the 
same  image."  And  this  is  the  very  essence  of  the 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ.  We  are  redeemed  by  the 
Life  of  God  without  us,  manifested  in  the  Person 
of  Christ,  kindling  into  flame  the  Life  of  God  that 
is  within  us.  Without  Him  we  can  do  nothing. 
Without  Him  the  warmth  that  was  in  Zaccheus'  heart 
would  have  smouldered  uselessly  away.  Through 
Him  it  became  Life  and  Light,  and  the  lost  was  saved. 


XYII. 

[Preached  January  16,  1853.] 
THF    SANCTIFICATION    OF    CHRIST. 

7oHif  xvii.  19.  — *'  And  for  their  sakes  I  sanctify  myself,  that  they  also 
might  be  sanctified  through  the  truth. ' 

The  prayer  in  which  these  words  occur  is  given  to 
us  by  the  Apostle  John  alone.  Perhaps  only  St. 
John  could  give  it,  for  it  belongs  to  the  peculiar 
province  of  his  revelation.  He  presents  us  with 
more  of  the  heart  of  Christ  than  the  other  apostles ; 
with  less  of  the  outward  manifestations.  He  gives 
us  more  conversations,  —  fewer  miracles  ;  more  of  the 
inner  life,  —  more  of  what  Christ  was,  less  of  what 
Christ  did. 

St.  John's  mind  was  not  argumentative,  but  intuitive. 
There  are  two  ways  of  reaching  truth :  by  reasoning 
out,  and  by  feeling  out.  All  the  profoundest  truths  are 
felt  out.  The  deep  glances  into  truth  are  got  by  Love. 
Love  a  man,  that  is  the  best  way  of  understanding  him. 
Feel  a  truth,  that  is  the  only  way  of  comprehending  it. 
Not  that  you  can  put  your  sense  of  such  truths  into 
words,  in  the  shape  of  accurate  maxims  or  doctrines ; 
but  the  truth  is  reached,  notwithstanding.  Compare  1 
Cor.  ii.  15,  16. 

(244) 


THE   SANCTIFICATION   OF    CHEIST.  245 

Now,  St.  John  felt  out  truth.  He  understood  hia 
Lord  by  loving  Him.  You  find  no  long  trains  of  argu- 
ment in  St.  John's  writings  ;  an  atmosphere  of  contem- 
plation pervades  all.  Brief,  full  sentences,  glowing 
with  imagery  of  which  the  mere  prose  intellect  makes 
nonsense,  and  which  a  warm  heart  alone  interprets,  — 
that  is  the  character  of  his  writing;  very  different  from 
the  other  apostles.  St.  Peter's  knowledge  of  Christ  was 
formed  by  impetuous  mistakes,  corrected  slowly  and 
severely.  St.  Paul's  Christianity  was  formed  by  prin- 
ciples wrought  out  glowing  hot,  as  a  smith  hammers 
out  ductile  iron,  in  his  unresting  earnest  fire  of  thought, 
where  the  Spirit  dwelt  in  warmth  and  light  forever, 
kindling  the  Divine  fire  of  inspiration.  St.  John  and 
St.  John's  Christianity  were  formed  by  personal  view 
of  Christ,  intercourse  with  Him,  and  silent  contempla- 
tion. Slowly,  month  by  month  and  year  by  year,  he 
gazed  on  Christ  in  silence,  and  thoughtful  adoration. 
"  Eeflecting  as  from  a  glass  the  glory  of  the  Lord," 
he  became  like  Him :  caught  His  tones.  His  modes  of 
thought.  His  very  expressions,  and  became  partaker 
of  His  inward  life.     A  "  Christ  was  formed  in  him." 

Hence  it  was  that  this  prayer  was  revealed  to  St. 
John  alone  of  the  apostles,  and  by  him  alone  recorded 
for  us.  The  Saviour's  mind  touched  his;  through 
secret  sympathy  he  was  inspired  with  the  mystic  con- 
sciousness of  what  had  passed  and  what  was  passing 
in  the  deeps  of  the  soul  of  Christ.  Its  secret  longings 
and  its  deepest  struggles  were  known  to  Jolm  alone. 

This  particular  sentence  in  the  prayer  which  I  have 

taken  for  the  text  was   peculiarly  after  the  heart  of 

the  Apostle  John.      For  I  have  said  that  to  him  the 

true  life  of  Christ  was  rather  the  inner  Life  than  tho 

21* 


246  THE   SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHEIST. 

outward  acts  of  life.  Now,  this  sentence  from  tlie  lips 
of  Jesus  speaks  of  the  Atoning  Sacrifice  as  an  inward 
mental  act  rather  than  as  an  outward  deed;  a  self- 
consecration  wrought  out  in  the  Will  of  Christ.  For 
their  sakes  I  am  sanctifying  myself.  That  is  a  resolve, 
—  a  secret  of  the  inner  Life.  No  wonder  it  was  re- 
corded by  St.  John. 
The  text  has  two  parts. 

I.  The  sanctification  of  Jesus  Christ. 

II.  The  sanctification  of  His  people. 

1.  Christ's  sanctification  of  Himself.  "  For  their 
sakes  I  sanctify  myself,  that  they  also  might  be  sancti- 
fied through  the  truth." 

We  must  explain  this  word  "  sanctify ;  "  upon  it  the 
whole  meaning  turns.  Clearly,  it  has  not  the  ordinary 
popular  sense  here  of  making  holy.  Christ  was  holy. 
He  could  not,  by  an  inward  eflbrt  or  struggle,  make 
Himself  holy,  for  He  was  that  already. 

Let  us  trace  the  history  of  the  word  "  sanctify  "  in 
the  early  pages  of  the  Jewish  history. 

When  the  destroying  angel  smote  the  first-born  of 
the  Egyptian  families,  the  symbolic  blood  on  the  lintei 
of  every  Hebrew  house  protected  the  eldest  born  from 
the  plague  of  death.  In  consequence,  a  law  of  Moses 
\"iewed  every  eldest  son  in  a  peculiar  light.  He  was 
reckoned  as  a  thing  devoted  to  the  Lord,  —  redeemed, 
and  therefore  set  apart.  The  word  used  to  express 
this  devotion  is  sanctify.  "  The  Lord  said  unto  Moses, 
Sanctify  unto  me  all  the  first-born,  whatsoever  openeth 
the  womb  among  the  children  of  Israel,  both  of  man 
and  of  beast :   it  is  mine." 

^y  a  subsequent  arrangement  these  first-born  were 


THE   SA^XTIFICATION    OF    CHRIST.  247 

exchanged  for  the  Levites.  Instead  of  the  eldest  son 
in  each  family,  a  whole  tribe  was  taken,  and  reckoned 
as  set  apart  and  devoted  to  Jehovah,  just  as  now  a  sub- 
stitute is  provided  to  serve  in  war  in  another's  stead. 
Therefore,  the  tribe  of  Levi  were  said  to  be  sanctijied 
tc  God. 

Ask  we  what  was  meant  by  saying  that  the  Levites 
were  sanctified  to  God  ?  The  ceremony  of  their  sancti- 
fication  will  explain  it  to  us.  It  was  a  very  significant 
one.  The  priest  touched  with  the  typical  blood  of  a 
sacrificed  animal  the  Levite's  right  hand,  right  eye, 
right  foot.  This  was  the  Levite's  sanctification.  It 
devoted  every  faculty  and  every  power,  —  of  seeing, 
doing,  walking,  —  the  right-hand  faculties,  the  best  and 
choicest, — to  God's  peculiar  service.  He  was  a  man 
set  apart. 

To  sanctify,  therefore,  in  the  Hebrew  phrase,  meant  to 
devote  or  consecrate.  Let  us  pause  for  a  few  moments 
to  gather  up  the  import  of  this  ceremony  of  the  Le- 
vites. 

The  first-born  are  a  nation's  hope ;  they  may  be  said 
to  represent  a  whole  nation.  The  consecration,  there- 
fore, of  the  first-born,  was  the  consecration  of  the  en- 
tire nation  by  their  representatives.  Now,  the  Levites 
were  substituted  for  the  first-born.  The  Levites  con- 
sequently represented  aU  Israel,  and  by  their  conse- 
cration the  life  of  Israel  was  declared  to  be  in  idea 
and  by  right  a  consecrated  life  to  God.  But  further 
still.  As  the  Levites  represented  Israel,  so  Israel  itself 
was  but  a  part  taken  for  the  whole,  and  represented 
the  whole  human  race.  If  any  one  thinks  this  liiuci- 
ful,  let  him  remember  the  principle  of  representation 
on  which  the  whole  Jewish  svstem  was  built.     For  ex- 


248  THE   SANCTIFTCATION   OF   CHRIST. 

amp.e  —  the  first-fruits  of  the  harvest  were  consecrated 
to  God.  Why  ?  To  declare  that  portion,  and  that  only, 
to  be  God's  ?  No  ;  St.  Paul  says,  as  a  part  for  the 
whole,  to  teach  and  remind  that  the  whole  harvest  was 
His.  "  If  the  first-fruits  be  holy,  the  lump  also  is  holy." 
So,  in  the  same  way,  God  consecrated  a  peculiar  people 
to  Himself  Why  ?  The  Jews  say,  because  they  alone 
are  His.  We  say,  as  a  part  representative  of  the  whole, 
to  show  in  one  nation  what  all  are  meant  to  be.  The 
holiness  of  Israel  is  a  representative  holiness.  Just 
as  the  consecrated  Levite  stood  for  what  Israel  was 
meant  to  be,  so  the  anointed  and  separated  nation  rep- 
resents forever  what  the  whole  race  of  man  is  in  the 
Divine  Idea,  a  thing  whose  proper  life  is  perpetual  con- 
secration. 

One  step  further.  This  being  the  true  life  of  Hu- 
manity, name  it  how  you  will,  —  sanctification,  consecra- 
tion, devotion,  sacrifice,  —  Christ,  the  Representative 
of  the  Race,  submits  Himself  in  the  text  to  the  universal 
law  of  this  devotion.  The  true  law  of  every  life  is 
consecration  to  God ;  therefore  Christ  says,  I  conse- 
crate myself;  else  He  had  not  been  a  Man  in  God's 
idea  of  manhood,  —  for  the  idea  of  Man  which  God  had 
been  for  ages  laboring  to  give  through  a  consecrated 
tribe  and  a  consecrated  nation  to  the  world,  was  the 
idea  of  a  being  whose  life-law  is  sacrifice,  every  act 
and  every  thought  being  devoted  to  God. 

Accordingly,  this  is  the  view  which  Christ  Himself 
gave  of  His  own  Divine  Humanity.  He  spoke  of  it 
as  of  a  thing  devoted  by  a  Divine  decree.  **  Say  ye 
ot  Him,  whom  the  Father  hath  sanctified,  and  sent  into 
the  world,  Thou  blasphemest ;  because  I  said,  I  am  the 
Son  of  God?" 


THE   SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST.  249 

We  have  reached,  therefore,  the  meaning  of  this 
word  in  the  text.  For  their  sakes  I  sanctify,  that  is, 
consecrate  or  devote  myself.  The  first  meaning  of 
sanctify  is  to  set  apart.  But  to  set  apart  for  God  is  to 
devote  or  consecrate ;  and  to  consecrate  a  thing  is  to 
make  it  holy.  And  thus  we  have  the  three  meanings 
of  the  word,  —  namely,  to  set  apart,  to  devote,  to  make 
holy,  —  rising  all  out  of  one  simple  idea. 

To  go  somewhat  into  particulars.  This  sanctifica- 
tion  is  spoken  of  here  chiefly  as  three-fold :  Self-devo- 
tion by  inward  resolve  —  self  devotion  to  the  Truth  — 
self-devotion  for  the  sake  of  others. 

1.  He  devoted  Himself  by  inward  resolve.  "  I  sanc- 
tify myself"  God  His  Father  had  devoted  Him  before. 
He  had  sanctified  and  sent  Him.  It  only  remained 
that  this  devotion  should  become  by  His  own  act 
se?/'-devotion  —  completed  by  His  own  will.  Now,  in 
that  act  of  will  consisted  His  sanctification  of  Himself. 

For,  observe,  this  was  done  within ;  in  secret,  soli- 
tary struggle  —  in  wrestling  with  all  temptations  which 
deterred  Him  from  His  work  —  in  resolve  to  do  it 
unflinchingly  ;  in  real  human  battle  and  victory. 

Therefore  this  self  sanctification  applies  to  the  Avhole 
t@ne  and  history  of  His  mind.  He  was  forever  devot- 
ing Himself  to  work  —  forever  bracing  His  human 
spirit  to  sublime  resolve.  But  it  applies  peculiarly  to 
certain  special  moments,  when  some  crisis,  as  on  this 
present  occasion,  came,  which  called  for  an  act  of  will. 

The  first  of  these  moments  which  we  read  of  came 
when  he  was  twelve  years  of  age.  We  pondered  on 
it  a  few  weeks  ago.  In  the  tem^jle,  that  earnest  con- 
versation with  the  doctors  indicates  to  us  that  He  had 
begun  to  revolve  His  own  mission  in  His  mind ;  for 


250  THE   SANCTIFICATION   OP   CHRIST. 

the  answer  to  His  mother's  expostulations  shows  us 
what  had  been  the  subject  of  those  questions  He  had 
been  putting:  "  Wist  ye  not  that  I  must  be  about  my 
Father's  business  ?  "  Solemn  words,  significant  of  a 
crisis  in  His  mental  history.  He  had  been  asking 
those  doctors  about  His  Father's  business  ;  what  it 
was,  and  how  it  was  to  be  done  by  Him  of  whom  He 
had  read  in  the  prophets,  even  Himself.  This  was  the 
earliest  self-devotion  of  Messias  ; — the  Boy  was  sanc- 
tifying Himself  for  life  and  manhood's  work. 

The  next  time  was  in  that  preparation  of  the  wil- 
derness which  we  call  Christ's  Temptation.  You  can- 
not look  deeply  into  that  strange  story  without 
perceiving  that  the  true  meaning  of  it  lies  in  this, 
that  the  Saviour  in  that  conflict  was  steeling  His  soul 
against  the  three-fold  form  in  which  temptation  pre- 
sented itself  to  Him  in  after-life,  to  mar  or  neutralize 
His  ministry. 

1st.  To  convert  the  hard,  stony  life  of  Duty  into  the 
comfort  and  enjoyment  of  this  life ;  to  barter,  like 
Ksau,  life  for  pottage ;  to  use  Divine  powers  in  Him 
only  to  procure  bread  of  Earth. 

2d.  To  distrust  God,  and  try  impatiently  some  wild, 
eudden  plan,  instead  of  His  meek  and  slow-appointed 
ways,  —  to  cast  Himself  from  the  temple,  as'we  dash 
ourselves  against  our  destiny. 

3d.  To  do  homage  to  the  majesty  of  wrong;  to 
worship  Evil  for  the  sake  of  success ;  making  the 
world  His  own  by  force  or  by  crooked  policy,  instead 
of  suffering. 

These  were  the  temptations  of  His  life,  as  they  are 
ot  ours.  If  you  search  through  His  history,  you  find 
that  all  trial  was  reducible  to  one  or  other  of  these 


THE   SANCTIFICATION    OF   CHRIST.  251 

three  forms.  Id  the  wilderness  His  soul  foresaw  them 
all ;  they  were  all  in  spirit  met  then,  fought  and  con- 
quered before  they  came  in  their  reality.  In  the 
wilderness  He  had  sanctified  and  consecrated  Himself 
against  all  possible  temptation,  and  Life  thenceforward 
was  only  the  meeting  of  that  in  Fact  which  had  been 
in  Resolve  met  already  —  a  vanquished  foe. 

I  said  He  had  sanctified  Himself  against  every  trial ; 
I  should  have  said,  against  every  one  except  the  last. 
The  temptation  had  not  exhibited  the  terrors  and  the 
form  of  Death  ;  He  had  yet  to  nerve  and  steel  Himself 
to  that.  And  hence  the  lofty  sadness  which  charac- 
terizes His  later  ministry,  as  He  went  down  from  the 
sunny  mountain-tops  of  life  into  the  darkening  shades 
of  the  valley  where  lies  the  grave.  There  is  a  per- 
ceptible difference  between  the  tone  of  His  earlier  and 
that  of  His  later  ministry,  which,  by  its  evidently  unde- 
signed truthfulness,  gives  us  a  strong  feeling  of  the 
reality  of  the  history. 

At  first  all  is  bright,  full  of  hope,  signalized  by  suc- 
cess and  triumph.  You  hear  from  Him  joyous  words 
of  anticipated  victory:  "I  beheld  Satan  as  lightning 
fall  from  heaven."  And  we  recollect  how  His  first 
sermon  in  the  synagogue  of  Capernaum  was  hailed  ; 
how  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  Him,  and  his  words  seemed 
full  of  grace. 

Slowly,  after  this,  there  comes  a  change  over  the 
spirit  of  His  life.  The  unremitting  toil  becomes  more 
superhuman:  "  I  must  work  the  work  of  Him  that  sent 
Me  while  it  is  day  ;  the  night  cometli  when  no  man  can 
work."  The  cold  presentiment  of  doom  hangs  more 
often  on  Him.  He  begins  to  talk  to  His  disciples  in 
mysterious  hints  of  the  betrayal  and  the  cross.     He  is 


252  THE  SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST. 

going  down  into  the  cloudland,  full  of  shadows  where 
nothing  is  distinct,  and  His  step  becomes  more  solemn, 
and  His  language  more  deeply  sad.  Words  of  awe, 
the  words  as  of  a  soul  struggling  to  pierce  through 
thick  glooms  of  Mystery,  and  Doubt,  and  Death,  come 
more  often  from  His  lips.  For  example  :  "  Now  is  My 
soul  troubled,  and  what  shall  I  say  ?  Father,  save  me 
from  this  hour,  but  for  this  cause  came  I  into  .he 
world."  —  "  My  soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful  even  unto 
death."  And  here  in  the  text  is  another  of  those 
sentences  of  mournful  grandeur :  "  For  their  sakes  I 
sanctify  Myself,  that  they  also  might  be  sanctified 
through  the  truth." 

Observe  the  present  tense.  Not  I  shall  devote  My- 
self, —  but  I  sanctify,  that  is,  I  am  sanctifying  Myself. 
It  was  a  mental  struggle  going  on  then.  This  prayer 
was,  so  to  speak,  part  of  His  Gethsemane  prayer,  — 
the  first  utterances  of  it,  broken  by  interruption, — 
then  finished  in  the  garden.  The  consecration  and 
the  Agony  had  begun  —  the  long  inward  battle  — 
which  was  not  complete  till  the  words  came,  too 
solemnly  to  be  called  triumphantly,  though  they  were 
indeed  the  trumpet-tones  of  Man's  grand  victory,  "  It 
is  finished." 

2.  The  sanctification  of  Christ  was  self-devotion  to 
the  Truth. 

I  infer  this,  because  He  says,  "  I  sanctify  Myself, 
that  they  also  might  be  sanctified  through  the  truth." 
'*  Also  "  implies  that  what  His  consecration  was,  theirs 
was.  Now,  theirs  is  expressly  said  to  be  sanctification 
by  the  truth.  That,  then,  was  His  consecration,  too. 
It  was  the  truth  which  devoted  Him,  and  marked  Him 
out  for  death. 


THE   SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST.  253 

For  it  was  not  merely  death  that  made  Christ's  sac- 
rifice the  world's  Atonement.  There  is  no  special 
virtue  in  mere  death,  even  though  it  be  the  death  of 
God's  own  Son.  Blood  does  not  please  God.  "  As  I 
Jive,  saith  the  Lord,  I  have  no  pleasure  in  the  death  of 
the  sinner."  Do  you  think  God  has  pleasure  in  the 
blood  of  the  righteous?  —  blood,  merely  as  blood?  — 
death,  merely  as  a  debt  of  nature  paid?  —  suffering, 
merely  as  if  suffering  had  in  it  mysterious  virtue  ? 

No,  my  brethren  I  God  can  be  satisfied  with  that 
only  which  pertains  to  the  conscience  and  the  will ; 
so  says  the  writer  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews  : 
"  Sacrifices  could  never  make  the  comers  thereunto 
perfect."  The  blood  of  Christ  was  sanctified  by  the 
Will  with  which  He  shed  it ;  it  is  that  which  gives  it 
value.  It  was  a  sacrifice  offered  up  to  conscience. 
He  suffered  as  a  Martyr  to  the  Truth.  He  fell  in  fidel- 
ity to  a  cause.  The  sacred  cause  in  which  He  fell  was 
love  to  the  human  race :  "  Greater  love  hath  no  man 
than  this,  that  a  man  give  his  life  for  his  friends." 
Now,  that  Truth  was  the  Cause  in  which  Christ  died. 
We  have  His  own  words  as  proof:  "  To  this  end  was 
I  born,  and  for  this  cause  came  I  into  the  world,  to  bear 
witness  to  the  Truth.'' 

Let  us  see  how  His  death  w^as  a  martyrdom  of  wit- 
ness to  Truth. 

First,  He  proclaimed  the  identity  between  religion 
and  Goodness.  He  distinguished  religion  from  correct 
views,  accurate  religious  observances,  and  even  from 
devout  feehngs.  He  said  that  to  be  religious  is  to  be 
good.  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart  ....  Blessed 
are  the  merciful  ....  Blessed  are  the  meek."  Jus* 
22 


254  THE   8ANCTIFICATI0N   OP   CHRIST. 

tice,  mercy,  truth — these  He  proclaimed  as  the  real 
righteousness  of  God. 

But,  because  He  taught  the  truth  of  Godliness,  the 
Pharisees  became  His  enemies :  those  men  of  opinions 
and  maxims ;  those  men  of  ecclesiastical,  ritual,  and 
^1  iritual  pretensions. 

Again,  He  taught  spiritual  Religion.  God  was  not 
in  the  temple ;  the  temple  was  to  come  down.  But 
Religion  would  survive  the  temple.  God's  temple  was 
man's  soul. 

Because  He  taught  spiritual  worship,  the  priests 
became  His  enemies.  Hence  came  those  accusations 
that  He  blasphemed  the  temple ;  that  He  had  said,  con- 
temptuously, "  Destroy  this  temple,  and  in  three  days 
I  will  raise  it  up." 

Once  more,  He  struck  a  death-blow  at  Jewish  exclu- 
siveness ;  He  proclaimed  the  truth  of  the  character  of 
God.  God,  the  Father.  The  hereditary  descent  from 
Abraham  was  nothing;  the  inheritance  of  Abraham's 
faith  wa?  everything.  God,  therefore,  would  admit  the 
Gentiles  who  inherited  that  faith.  For  God  loved  the 
world,  —  not  a  private  few ;  not  the  Jew  only,  not  the 
elder  brother  who  had  been  all  his  life  at  home,  —  but 
the  prodigal  younger  brother,  too,  who  had  wandered 
far  and  sinned  much. 

Now,  because  He  proclaimed  this  salvation  of  the 
Gentiles,  the  whole  Jewish  nation  were  offended. 
The  first  time  He  ever  hinted  it  at  Capernaum,  they 
took  Him  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  whereon  their  city 
was  built,  that  they  might  throw  Him  thence. 

And  thus,  by  degrees,  —  priests,  pharisees,  rulers, 
rich,  and  p^or,  —  He  had  roused  them  all  against  Him; 
and  the  Divine  Martyr  of  the  Truth  stood  alone  at  last 


THE   SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST.  255 

beside  the  cross,  when  the  world's  Hfe  was  to  be  won, 
without  a  friend. 

All  this  we  must  bear  in  mind,  if  we  would  under- 
stand the  expression,  "I  sanctify  Myself."  He  was 
sanctifying  and  consecrating  Himself  for  this,  —  to 
be  a  Witness  to  the  Truth,  —  a  devoted  one,  conse- 
crated in  His  heart's  deeps  to  die,  —  loyal  to  Truth,  — 
even  though  it  should  have  to  give,  as  the  reward  of 
allegiance,  not  honors  and  kingdoms,  but  only  a  crown 
of  thorns. 

3.  The  self-sanctification  of  Christ  was  for  the  sake 
of  others.     "  For  their  sakes."  .  .  . 

He  obeyed  the  law  of  self-consecration  for  Himself, 
else  He  had  not  been  man ;  for  that  law  is  the  uni- 
versal law  of  our  human  existence.  But  He  obeyed 
it  not  for  Himself  alone,  but  for  others  also.  It  was 
vicarious  self-devotion  —  that  is,  instead  of  others,  as 
the  Representative  of  them.  "  For  their  sakes,"  as  an 
example,  "  that  they  also  might  be  sanctified  through 
the  truth." 

Distinguish  between  a  model  and  an  example.  You 
copy  the  outline  of  a  model ;  you  imitate  the  spirit  of 
an  example.  Christ  is  our  Example  ;  Christ  is  not  our 
Mode..  You  might  copy  the  life  of  Christ — make 
Him  a  model  in  every  act  —  and  yet  you  might  be  not 
one  whit  more  of  a  Christian  than  before.  You  might 
wash  the  feet  of  poor  fishermen  as  He  did ;  live  a  wan- 
dering life,  with  nowhere  to  lay  your  head.  You 
might  go  about  teaching,  and  never  use  any  words 
but  His  words,  never  express  a  religious  truth  except 
in  Bible  language,  have  no  home,  and  mix  with  pulili- 
cans  and  harlots.  Then  Christ  would  be  your  model ; 
vou  would  have  coDied  His  life,  like  a  pir:tnre,  line  for 


256  THE   SANCTIPICATION   OP   CHRIST. 

line,  and  shadow  for  shadow,  and  yet  you  might  not 
Le  Christlike. 

On  the  other  hand,  you  might  imitate  Christ,  get 
His  Spirit,  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  thought  which 
He  breathed,  do  not  one  single  act  which  He  did,  but 
every  act  in  His  Spirit ;  you  might  be  rich,  whereas 
He  was  poor ;  never  teach,  whereas  He  was  teaching 
always ;  lead  a  life,  in  all  outward  particulars,  the  very 
contrast  and  opposite  of  His ;  and  yet  the  spirit  of  His 
self-devotion  might  have  saturated  your  whole  being, 
and  penetrated  into  the  life  of  every  act,  and  the  es- 
sence of  every  thought.  Then  Christ  would  have 
become  your  Example  ;  for  we  can  only  imitate  that 
of  which  we  have  caught  the  spirit. 

Accordingly,  He  sanctified  Himself  that  He  might 
become  a  living,  inspiring  Example,  firing  men's  hearts, 
by  love,  to  imitation,  —  a  burning  and  a  shining  Light 
shed  upon  the  mystery  of  Life,  to  guide  by  a  spirit  of 
warmth  lighting  from  within.  In  Christ  there  is  not 
given  to  us  a  faultless  essay  on  the  loveliness  of  self- 
consecration,  to  convince  our  reason  how  beautiful  it 
is ;  but  there  is  given  to  us  a  self  consecrated  One  :  a 
living  Truth,  a  living  Person ;  a  Life  that  was  beau- 
tiful, a  Death  that  we  feel  in  our  inmost  hearts  to  have 
been  Divine ;  and  all  this  in  order  that  the  Spirit  of 
that  consecrated  Life  and  consecrated  Death,  through 
love  and  wonder,  and  deep  enthusiasm,  may  pass  into 
us,  and  sanctify  us,  also,  to  the  Truth,  in  life  and 
death.  He  sacrificed  Himself  that  we  might  ofier  our- 
selves a  living  sacrifice  to  God. 

II.  Christ's  sanctification  of  His  people  :  "  That  they 
also  might  be  sanctified  through  the  truth." 


THE  SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST.  257 

To  sanctify  means  two  things.  It  means  to  devote, 
and  it  means  to  set  apart.  Yet  these  two  meanings  are 
but  diflferent  sides  of  the  same  idea ;  for  to  be  devoted 
to  God  is  to  be  separated  from  all  that  is  opposed  U 
God. 

Those  whom  Christ  sanctifies  are  separated  froa 
two  things :  From  the  world's  evil,  and  from  thi 
world's  spirit. 

1.  From  the  world's  evil.  So  in  verse  15  :  "I  pray 
not  that  Thou  shouldest  take  them  out  of  the  world, 
but  that  Thou  shouldest  keep  them  from  the  evil." 
Not  from  physical  evil,  not  from  pain  ;  Christ  does  not 
exempt  His  own  from  such  kinds  of  evil.  Nay,  we 
hesitate  to  call  pain  and  sorrow  evils,  when  we  remem- 
ber what  bright  characters  they  have  made,  and  when 
we  recollect  that  almost  all  who  came  to  Christ  came 
impelled  by  sufi'ering  of  some  kind  or  other.  For 
example,  the  Syrophenician  woman  had  been  driven  to 
"  fall  at  His  feet  and  worship  Him,"  by  the  anguish  of 
the  tormented  daughter  whom  she  had  watched.  It 
was  a  widow  that  cast  into  the  treasury  all  her  living, 
and  that  widow  poor. 

Possibly  Want  and  Woe  will  be  seen  hereafter,  when 
Ihis  world  of  Appearance  shall  have  passed  away,  to 
have  been,  not  evils,  but  God's  blessed  angels,  and 
ministers  of  His  most  parental  love. 

But  the  evil  from  which  Christ's  sanctification  sepa- 
lates  the  soul  is  that  worst  of  evils  —  properly  speak- 
ing, the  only  evil  —  sin  ;  revolt  from  God,  disloyalty 
to  conscience,  tyranny  of  the  passions,  strife  of  our 
self  will  in  conflict  with  the  loving  Will  of  God.  This 
is  our  foe, —  our  only  foe,  that  we  have  a  right  to  hate 
with  perfect  hatred,  meet  it  where  we  will,  and  under 
22* 


258  THE  SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST. 

whatever  form,  in  church  or  state,  in  false  social  max. 
ims,  or  in  our  own  hearts.  And  it  was  to  sanctify  or 
separate  us  from  this  that  Christ  sanctified  or  conse- 
crated Himself.  By  the  blood  of  His  anguish,  by  the 
strength  of  His  unconquerable  resolve,  we  are  sworn 
against  it ;  bound  to  be,  or  else  sinning  greatly,  in  a 
world  of  evil,  consecrated  spirits. 

2.  The  self-devotion  of  Christ  separates  us  from  the 
world's  spirit. 

Distinguish  between  the  world's  evil  and  the  world's 
spirit.  Many  things  which  cannot  be  classed  amongst 
things  evil  are  yet  dangerous  as  things  worldly. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  all  ministerial  duties 
to  define  what  the  world-spirit  is.  It  cannot  be  identi- 
fied with  vice,  nor  can  unworldliness  be  defined  as 
abstinence  from  vice.  The  Old  Testament  saints  were 
many  of  them  great  transgressors.  Abraham  lied ; 
Jacob  deceived  ;  David  committed  adultery.  Crimes 
dark  surely,  and  black  enough  !  And  yet  these  men 
were  unworldly  —  the  spirit  of  the  world  was  not  in 
them.  They  erred  and  were  severely  punished;  for 
crime  is  crime  in  whomsoever  it  is  found,  and  most  a 
crime  in  a  saint  of  God.  But  they  were  beyond  their 
age  ;  they  were  not  of  the  world.  They  were  strang- 
ers and  pilgrims  upon  earth.  They  were  in  the  midst 
of  innumerable  temptations  from  within  and  from  with- 
out, seeking  after  a  better  country,  that  is,  an  heavenly. 

Again,  you  cannot  say  that  worldliness  consists  in 
mixing  with  many  people,  and  unworldliness  with  few. 
Daniel  was  unworldly  in  the  luxurious,  brilliant  '^ourt 
of  Babylon  ;  Adam,  in  Paradise,  had  but  one  compan- 
ion —  that  one  was  the  world  to  him. 

Again,  the  spirit  of  the  world  cannot  be  defined  as 


THE  SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST.  "    259 

consisting  in  any  definite  plainness  of  dress  or  peculiar 
mode  of  living.  If  we  would  be  sanctified  from  the 
world  when  Christ  comes,  we  must  be  found  not  strip- 
ping ofi"  the  ornaments  from  our  persons,  but  the  cen- 
soriousness  from  our  tongues,  and  the  selfishness  from 
our  hearts. 

Once  more,  that  which  is  a  sign  of  unworldliness  in 
one  age  is  not  a  certain  sign  of  it  in  another.  In 
Daniel's  age,  when  dissoluteness  marked  the  world, 
frugal  living  was  a  sufficient  evidence  that  he  was  not 
of  the  world.  To  say  that  he  restrained  his  appetites, 
was  nearly  the  same  as  saying  that  he  was  sanctified. 
But  now,  when  intemperance  is  not  the  custom,  a  life 
as  temperate  as  Daniel's  might  coexist  with  all  that  is 
worst  of  the  spirit  of  the  world  in  the  heart.  Almost 
no  man  then  was  temperate  who  was  not  serving  God ; 
now,  hundreds  of  thousands  are  self-controlled  by 
prudence,  who  serve  the  world  and  self 

Therefore,  you  cannot  define  sanctification  by  any 
outward  marks  or  rules.  But  he  who  will  thoughtfully 
watch  will  understand  what  is  this  peculiar  sanctifica- 
tion or  separation  from  the  world  which  Christ  desired 
in  His  servants. 

He  is  sanctified  by  the  self-devotion  of  his  Master 
from  the  world,  who  has  a  life  in  himself  independent 
of  the  maxims  and  customs  which  sweep  along  with 
them  other  men.  .  In  his  Master's  words,  "  A  well  of 
water  in  him,  springing  up  into  everlasting  life,"  keep- 
ing his  life,  on  the  whole,  pure,  and  his  heart  fresh. 
His  true  life  is  hid  with  Christ  and  God.  His  motives, 
the  aims  and  objects  of  his  life,  however  inconsistent 
they  may  be  with  each  other,  however  irregularly  or 
feebly  carried  out,  are  yet,  on  the  whole,  above,  not 


260  THE  SANCTIFICATION   OF   CHRIST. 

here.  His  citizenship  is  in  heaven.  He  may  be 
tempted ;  he  may  err ;  he  may  fall :  but  still,  in  hia 
darkest  aberrations,  there  will.be  a  something  that 
keeps  before  him  still  the  dreams  and  aspirations  of 
his  best  days ;  a  thought  of  the  Cross  of  Christ,  and 
the  self-consecration  that  it  typifies ;  a  conviction 
that  that  is  the  Highest,  and  that  alone  the  true  Life. 
And  that — if  it  were  only  that  —  would  make  him 
essentially  difi'erent  from  other  men,  even  when  he  mixes 
with  them,  and  seems  to  catch  their  tone, — among  them, 
but  not  one  of  them.  And  that  Life  within  him  ia 
Christ's  pledge  that  he  shall  be  yet  what  he  longs  to 
be,  —  a  something  severing  him,  separating  him,  con- 
secrating him.  For  him,  and  for  such  as  him,  the  conse- 
cration prayer  of  Christ  was  made.  "  They  are  not 
of  the  world,  even  as  I  am  not  of  the  world :  Sanctify 
them  through  thy  Truth  :  Thy  Word  is  Truth." 


XVIII. 

[Preached  January  23,  1853. J 

THE  FIRST  MIRACLE. 
I.      THE    GLORY    OF    THE    VIRGIN    MOTHER. 

John  ii.  11.  —  "  This  beginning  of  miracles  did  Jesus  in  Cana  of  Galilee, 
and  manifested  forth  his  glory;  and  his  disciples  believed  on  him." 

This  was  the  "  beginning  of  Miracles  "  which  Jesus 
did,  and  yet  He  was  now  thirty  years  of  age.  For 
thirty  years  He  had  done  no  miracle  ;  and  that  is,  in 
itself,  almost  worthy  to  be  called  a  miracle.  That  He 
abstained  for  thirty  years  from  the  exertion  of  His 
wonder-working  power,  is  as  marvellous  as  that  He 
possessed  for  three  years  the  power  to  exert.  He  was 
content  to  live  long  in  deep  obscurity.  Nazareth,  with 
its  quiet  valley,  was  world  enough  for  Him.  There 
was  no  disposition  to  rush  into  publicity ;  no  haste  to 
be  known  in  the  world.  The  quiet  consciousness  of 
power  which  breathes  in  that  expression,  "  Mine  hour 
is  not  yet  come,"  had  marked  His  whole  life.  He 
could  bide  His  time.     He  had  the  strength  to  wait. 

This  was  true  greatness,  —  the  greatness  of  man, 
because  also  the  greatness  of  God :  for  such  is  God's 
way  in  all  He  does.  In  all  the  works  of  God  there  is 
a  conspicuous  absence  of  haste  and  hurry.     All  that 

(201) 


262  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

He  does  ripens  slowly.  Six  slow  days  and  nights  of 
creative  force  before  man  was  made ;  two  thousand 
years  to  discipline  and  form  a  Jewish  people ;  four 
thousand  years  of  darkness,  and  ignorance,  and  crime, 
before  the  fulness  of  the  Time  had  come,  when  He 
could  send  forth  His  Son  ;  unnumbered  ages  of  war 
before  the  thousand  years  of  solid  peace  can  come. 
"Whatever  contradicts  this  Divine  plan  must  pay  the 
price  of  haste  —  brief  duration.  All  that  is  done 
before  the  hour  is  come  decays  fast.  All  precocious 
things,  ripened  before  their  time,  wither  before  their 
time  —  precocious  fruit,  precocious  minds,  forced  feel- 
ings.    "  He  that  believeth  shall  not  make  haste." 

We  shall  distribute  the  various  thoughts  which  this 
event  suggests  under  two  heads. 

I.  The  Glory  of  the  Virgin  Mother. 

n.  The  Glory  of  the  Divine  Son. 

I.  The  Glory  of  the  Virgin  Mother. 

In  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  St.  Paul 
speaks  of  the  glory  of  the  woman  as  of  a  thing  dis- 
tinct from  the  glory  of  the  man.  They  are  tl^  two 
opposite  poles  of  the  sphere  of  humanity.  Their 
provinces  are  not  the  same,  but  different.  The  quali- 
ties which  are  beautiful  as  predominant  in  one  are  not 
beautiful  when  predominant  in  the  other.  That  which 
is  the  glory  of  the  one  is  not  the  glory  of  the  other. 
The  glory  of  her,  who  was  highly  favored  among 
women,  and  whom  all  Christendom  has  agreed  in  con- 
templating as  the  type  and  ideal  of  her  sex,  was  glory 
in  a  different  order  from  that  in  which  her  Son  exhib- 
ited the  glory  of  a  perfect  manhood.  A  glory  ditferent 
in  degree,  of  course :  —  the  one  was  only  human,  the 


-^HS   GLORY   OF   THE    t^IRGrN   MOTHER.  263 

other  more  than  human  —  the  Word  made  flesh.  But 
different  in  order,  too  :  —  the  one  manifesting  forth  her 
glory,  —  the  grace  of  womanhood;  the  other  mani- 
festing forth  His  glory,  —  the  Wisdom  and  Majesty  of 
Manhood,  in  Avhich  God  dwelt. 

Different  orders  or  kinds  of  glory.  Let  us  consider 
the  glory  of  the  Virgin,  which  is,  in  other  words,  the 
glory  of  what  is  womanly  in  character. 

Remarkable,  first  of  all,  in  this  respect,  is  her  con- 
siderateness.  There  is  gentle,  womanly  tact  in  those 
words  —  "They  have  no  wine."  Unselfish  thoughtful- 
ness  about  others'  comforts,  not  her  own ;  delicate 
anxiety  to  save  a  straitened  family  from  the  exposure 
of  their  poverty;  and,  moreover,  —  for  this  is  very 
worthy  of  observation,  —  carefulness  about  gross,  mate- 
rial things :  a  sensual  thing,  we  might  truly  say,  — 
wine,  the  instrument  of  intoxication ;  yet  see  how  her 
feminine  tenderness  transfigured  and  sanctified  such 
gross  and  common  things ;  how  that  wine  which,  as 
used  by  the  revellers  of  the  banquet,  might  be  coarse 
and  sensual,  was  in  her  use  sanctified,  as  it  was  by 
unselfishness  and  charity,  —  a  thing  quite  heavenly, 
glorified  by  the  Ministry  of  Love. 

It  was  so  that,  in  old  times,  with  thoughtful  hospi- 
tality, Rebekah  offered  water  at  the  well  to  Abraham's 
way-worn  servant.  It  was  so  that  Martha  showed  her 
devotion  to  her  Lord  even  to  excess,  being  cumbered 
with  much  serving.  It  was  so  that  the  women  minis- 
tered to  Christ  out  of  their  substance,  —  water,  fjod, 
money.  They  took  these  low  things  of  earth,  and 
spiritualized  them  into  means  of  hospitality  and  devo- 
tion. 

And  this  is' the  glory  of  womanhood, — surely  no 


264  THE  FIRST   MiRACLE. 

common  glory,  —  surely  one  which,  if  she  rightly  com 
prehended  her  place  on  earth,  might  enable  her  to 
accept  its  apparent  humiliation  unrepiningly :  the 
glory  of  unsensualizing  coarse  and  common  things,  — 
sensual  things,  the  objects  of  mere  sense,  —  meat,  and 
drink,  and  household  cares,  —  elevating  them,  by  the 
spirit  in  which  she  ministers  them,  into  something 
transfigured  and  sublime. 

The  humblest  mother  of  a  poor  family,  who  is  cum- 
bered with  much  serving  or  watching  over  a  hospi- 
tality which  she  is  too  poor  to  delegate  to  others,  or 
toiling  for  love's  sake  in  household  work,  needs  no 
emancipation  in  God's  sight.  It  is  the  prerogative 
and  the  glory  of  her  womanhood  to  consecrate  the 
meanest  things  by  a  ministry  which  is  not  for 
self. 

2.  Submissian. 

"  Whatsoever  He  saith  unto  you,  do  it."  Here  is  the 
true  spirit  of  Obedience.  Not  slavishness,  but  entire 
loyalty  and  perfect  trust  in  a  Person  whom  we  rever- 
ence. She  did  not  comprehend  her  Son's  strange 
lepulse  and  mysterious  words;  but  she  knew  that 
they  were  not  capricious  words,  for  there  was  no  ca- 
price in  Him ;  she  knew  that  the  law  which  ruled  His 
will  was  Eight,  and  that  importunity  was  useless.  So 
she  bade  them  reverently  wait  in  silence  tiU  His  time 
should  come. 

Here  is  another  distinctive  glory  of  womanhood. 
In  the  very  outset  of  the  Bible,  submission  is  revealed 
as  her  peculiar  lot  and  destiny.  If  you  were  merely 
to  look  at  the  words  as  they  stand,  declaring  the 
results  of  the  Fall,  you  would  be  inclined  to  call  that 
vocation  of  obedience  a  curse ;   but  in  the  spirit  of 


THE   GLOEY   OP  THE  VIRGIN  MOTHER.  265 

Christ  it  is  transformed,  like  Labor,  into  a  blessing.  In 
this  passage  one  pecuhar  blessing  stands  connected 
with  it. 

Here  a  two-fold  blessing  is  connected  with  it :  — 
Freedom  from  all  doubt,  and  prevailing  power  in 
prayer. 

The  first  is  freedom  from  all  doubt.  The  Virgin 
seems  to  have  felt  no  perplexity  at  that  rebuke  and 
seeming  refusal ;  and  yet,  perplexity  and  misgiving 
would  seem  natural.  A  more  masculine  and  imperi- 
ous mind  would  have  been  startled,  made  sullen,  or 
begun  at  once  to  sound  the  depths  of  metaphysics, 
reasoning  upon  the  hardship  of  a  lot  which  cannot 
realize  all  it  wishes ;  wondering  why  such  simple 
blessings  are  refused,  pondering  deeply  on  divine 
decrees,  ending  perhaps  in  scepticism.  Mary  was 
saved  from  this.  She  could  not  understand,  but  she 
could  trust  and  wait.  Not  for  one  moment  did  a 
shade  of  doubt  rest  upon  her  heart.  At  once  and 
instantly,  — "  Whatsoever  He  saith  unto  you,  do  it." 
And  so,  too,  the  Syrophenician  woman  was  not  driven 
to  speculate  on  the  injustice  of  her  destiny  by  the 
harshness  of  Christ's  reply.  She  drew  closer  to  her 
Lord  in  prayer.  Affection  and  submissiveness  saved 
them  both  from  doubt,  —  women  both. 

Now,  there  are  whole  classes  of  our  fellow-creatures 
to  whom,  as  a  class,  the  anguish  of  religious  doubt 
never,  or  rarely,  comes.  Mental  doubt  rarely  touches 
woman.  Soldiers  and  sailors  do  not  doubt.  Their 
religion  is  remarkable  for  its  simplicity  and  childlike 
character.  Scarcely  ever  are  religious  warriors  tor- 
mented with  scepticism  or  doubts.  And  in  all,  I 
believe  for  the  same  reason,  the  habits  of  feeling  to 
23 


266  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

which  the  long  life  of  obedience  tr.ains  the  soul. 
Prompt,  quick,  unquestioning  obedience — that  is  the 
soil  for  faith. 

I  call  this,  therefore,  the  glorj  of  womanhood.  It 
is  the  true  glory  of  human  beings  to  obey.  It  is  her 
special  glory,  rising  out  of  the  very  weakness  of  her 
nature,  —  God's  strength  made  perfect  in  weakness. 
England  will  not  soon  forget  that  lesson  left  her  as  the 
bequest  of  a  great  life.  Her  bui-ied  Hero's  glory 
came  out  of  that  which  was  manliest  in  his  character, 
the  Virgin  spirit  of  obedience. 

The  second  glory  resulting  from  it  is  prevailing 
power  with  God.  Her  wish  was  granted.  — "  What 
have  I  to  do  with  thee?"  were  words  that  only 
asserted  His  own  perfect  independence.  They  were 
not  the  language  of  rebuke.  As  Messiah,  He  gently 
vindicated  his  acts  from  interference,  showing  the 
filial  relation  to  be  in  its  first  strictness  dissolved. 
But  as  Son  He  obeyed ;  or,  to  speak  more  properly, 
complied.  Nay,  probably  His  look  had  said  that 
already,  promising  more  than  His  words,  setting  her 
mind  at  rest,  and  granting  the  favor  she  desired. 

Brethren,  the  subject  of  prayer  is  a  deep  mystery. 
To  the  masculine  intellect  it  is  a  demonstrable  absurd- 
ity. For,  says  logic,  how  can  man's  will  modify  the 
will  of  God,  or  alter  the  fixed  decree  ?  And  if  it  can- 
not, where  lies  the  use  of  prayer  ?  But  there  is  a 
something  mightier  than  intellect,  and  truer  than  logic. 
It  is  the  faith  which  works  by  love,  —  the  conviction 
that,  in  this  world  of  mystery,  that  which  cannot  be 
put  in  words,  nor  defended  by  argument,  may  yet  be 
true.     The  will  of  Christ  was  fixed:  what  could  bo 


THE   GLORY   OF   THE   VIRGm   MOTHER.  267 

the  use  of  intercession  ?  and  yet  the  Virgin  feeling 
was  true,  —  her  prayer  would  prevail. 

Here  is  a  grand  paradox,  which  is  the  paradox  of 
all  prayer.  The  heart  hopes  that  which  to  reasoning 
seems  impossible.  And  I  believe  we  never  pray 
aright  except  when  we  pray  in  that  feminine,  childlike 
spirit  which  no  logic  can  defend,  feeling  as  if  we  mod- 
ified the  will  of  God,  though  that  will  is  fixed. 

It  is  the  glory  of  the  spirit  that  is  afiectionate  and 
submissive^  that  it  —  ay,  and  it  alone  —  can  pray,  be- 
cause it  alone  can  believe  that  its  prayer  will  be 
granted  ;  and  it  is  the  glory  of  that  spirit,  too,  that 
its  prayer  will  be  granted. 

3dly.  In  all  Christian  ages  the  especial  glory  as- 
cribed to  the  Virgin  Mother  is  purity  of  heart  and  life. 
Implied  in  the  term  ''  Virgin."  Gradually,  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  Christian  church,  the  recognition  of  this 
became  idolatry.  The  works  of  early  Christian  art 
curiously  exhibit  the  progress  of  this  perversion. 
They  show  how  Mariolatry  grew  up.  The  first 
pictures  of  the  early  Christian  ages  simply  represent 
the  woman.  By  and  by,  we  find  outlines  of  the  Mother 
and  the  Child.  In  an  after-age,  the  Son  is  seen  sitting 
on  a  throne,  with  the  Mother  crowned,  but  sitting  as 
yet  below  Him,  In  an  age  still  later,  the  crowned 
Mother  on  a  level  with  the  Son.  Later  still,  the 
Mother  on  a  throne  above  the  Son.  And,  lastly,  a 
Romish  picture  represents  the  Eternal  Son,  in  wrath, 
about  to  destroy  the  Earth,  and  the  Virgin  Intercessor 
interposing,  pleading  by  significant  attitude  ner  maternal 
rights,  and  redeeming  the  world  from  His  vengeance. 
Such   was,  in   fact,   the    progress  of  Virgin-worship 


268  THE   FIRST   MIEACLE. 

First,  the  woman  reverenced  for  the  Son's  sake ;  then 
the  woman  reverenced  above  the  Son,  and  adored. 

Now,  the  question  is,  How  came  this  to  be  ?  for  we 
assume  it  as  a  principle  that  no  error  has  ever  spread 
widely  that  was  not  the  exaggeration  or  perversion 
of  a  truth.  And  be  assured  that  the  first  step  towards 
dislodging  error  is  to  understand  the  truth  at  which  it 
aims.  Never  can  an  error  be  permanently  destroyed 
by  the  roots  unless  we  have  planted  by  its  side  the 
truth  that  is  to  take  its  place.  Else  you  will  find  the 
falsehood  returning  forever,  growing  up  again  when 
you  thought  it  cut  up  root  and  branch,  appearing  in 
the  very  places  where  the  crushing  of  it  seemed  most 
complete.  Wherever  there  is  a  deep  truth  unrecog- 
nized, misunderstood,  it  will  force  its  way  into  men's 
hearts.  It  will  take  pernicious  forms,  if  it  cannot  find 
healthful  ones.  It  will  grow  as  some  weeds  grow,  in 
noxious  forms,  ineradicably,  because  it  has  a  root  in 
human  nature. 

Else  how  comes  it  to  pass,  after  three  hundred  years 
of  Reformation,  we  find  Virgin-worship  restoring  itself 
again  in  this  reformed  England,  where,  least  of  all 
countries,  we  should  expect  it,  and  where  the  remem- 
brance of  Romish  persecution  might  have  seemed  to 
make  its  return  impossible  ?  How  comes  it  that  some 
of  the  deepest  thinkers  of  our  day,  and  men  of  the 
Baintliest  lives,  are  feeling  this  Virgin-worship  a  neces- 
sity for  their  souls  ?  —  for  it  is  the  doctrine  to  which 
the  convei'ts  to  Romanism  cling  most  tenaciously. 

Brethren,  I  reply,  because  the  doctrine  of  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Virgin  has  a  root  in  truth,  and  no  mere 
cutting  and  uprooting  can  destroy  it:  no  Protestant 
thunders  of  oratory  ;  no  platform  expositions  ;  no  Ref- 


THE   GLORY   OF   THE   VIRGIN  MOTHER.  269' 

ormation  societies.  In  one  word,  no  mere  negations, 
nothing  but  the  full  liberation  of  the  truth  which  lies 
at  the  root  of  error,  can  eradicate  error. 

Surely  we  ought  to  have  learnt  that  truth,  by  this 
time.  Recollect  how,  before  Christ's  time,  mere  ne- 
gations failed  to  uproot  paganism.  Philosophers  had 
disproved  it  by  argument ;  satirists  had  covered  it 
with  ridicule.  It  was  slain  a  thousand  times,  and  yei 
paganism  lived  on  in  the  hearts  of  men ;  and  those 
who  gave  it  up  returned  to  it  again  in  a  dying  hour, 
because  the  disprovers  of  it  had  given  nothing  for  the 
heart  to  rest  on  in  its  place.  But  when  Paul  dared 
to  proclaim  of  paganism  what  we  are  proclaiming  of 
Virgin-worship,  —  that  paganism  stood  upon  a  truth, 
and  taught  the  truth,  —  paganism  fell  forever.  The 
Apostle  Paul  found  in  Athens  an  altar  to  the  Un- 
known God.  He  did  not  announce  in  Athens  lectures 
against  heathen  priestcraft ;  nor  did  he  undertake  to 
prove  it,  in  the  Areopagus,  all  a  mystery  of  iniquity, 
and  a  system  of  damnable  idolatries ;  —  that  is  the 
mode  in  which  we  set  about  our  controversies;  — 
but  he  disengaged  the  truth  from  the  error,  —  pro- 
claimed the  truth,  and  left  the  errors  to  themselves. 
The  truth  grew  up,  and  the  errors  silently  and 
slowly  withered. 

I  pray  you,  Christian  brethren,  do  not  join  those 
fierce  associations  which  think  only  of  uprooting 
error.  There  is  a  spirit  in  them  which  is  more  of 
earth  than  heaven,  —  short-sighted,  too,  and  self-destruo- 
tive.  They  do  not  make  converts  to  Christ,  but  only 
controversialists,  and  adherents  to  a  party.  They 
compass  sea  and  land.  It  matters  little  whether  fierce 
Romanism  or  fierce  Protestanism  wins  the  day ;  but 
23* 


270  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

it  does  matter  whether  or  Dot  in  the  conflict  we  lose 
some  precious  Christian  truth,  as  well  as  the  very 
spirit  of  Christianity. 

What  lies  at  the  root  of  this  ineradicable  Virgin- 
worship  ?  How  comes  it  that,  out  of  so  few  scripture 
sentences  about  her,  —  many  of  them  like  this  rebuke, 
depreciatory, — learned  men  and  pious  men  could  ever 
have  developed,  as  they  call  it,  —  or,  as  it  seems  to  us, 
tortured  and  twisted, — a  doctrine  of  Divine  honors  to 
be  paid  to  Mary  ?  Let  us  set  out  with  the  conviction 
that  there  must  have  been  some  reason  for  it,  —  some 
truth  of  which  it  is  the  perversion. 

I  believe  the  truth  to  be  this.  Before  Christ,  the 
qualities  honored  as  Divine  were  peculiarly  the  vir- 
tues of  the  man:  Courage,  Wisdom,  Truth,  Strength. 
But  Christ  proclaimed  the  Divine  nature  of  qualities 
entirely  opposite :  Meekness,  Obedience,  Affection, 
Purity.  He  said  that  the  pure  in  heart  should  see 
God.  He  pronounced  the  beatitudes  of  meekness,  and 
lowliness,  and  poverty  of  spirit.  Now,  observe  these 
were  all  of  the  order  of  graces  which  are  distinctively 
feminine  ;  and  it  is  the  peculiar  feature  of  Christian- 
ity, that  it  exalts  not  strength  nor  intellect,  but  gentle- 
ness, and  lovingness,  and  Virgin  purity. 

Here  was  a  new,  strange  thought  given  to  the  world. 
It  was  for  many  ages  the  thought:  no  wonder,  —  it 
was  the  one  great  novelty  of  the  revealed  religion. 
How  were  men  to  find  expression  for  that  idea  which 
was  working  in  them,  vague  and  beautiful,  but  want- 
ing substance  —  the  idea  of  the  Divineness  of  what  is 
pure,  above  the  Divineness  of  what  is  strong  ?  Would 
you  have  had  them  say,  simply,  we  had  forgotten  these 
things  ;  now  they  are  revealed,  —  now  we  know  that 


THE   GLORY    OF   TIIE   VIRGIN   MOTHER.  271 

Love  and  Purity  are  as  Divine  as  Power  and  Reason  ? 
My  brethren,  it  is  not  so  that  men  worship,  —  it  is 
only  so  that  men  think.  They  think  about  qualities,  — 
they  worship  persons.  Worship  must  have  a  form. 
Adoration  finds  a  Person  ;  and,  if  it  cannot  find  one,  it 
will  imagine  one.  Gentleness  and  purity  are  words 
for  a  philosopher ;  but  a  man  whose  heart  wants  some- 
thing to  adore  will  find  for  himself  a  gentle  one  —  a 
pure  one  —  Incarnate  purity  and  love  —  gentleness 
robed  in  flesh  and  blood,  before  whom  his  knee  may 
bend,  and  to  whom  the  homage  of  his  spirit  can  be 
given.     You  cannot  adore  except  a  Person. 

What  marvel  if  the  early  Christian  found  that  the 
Virgin-mother  of  our  Lord  embodied  this  great  idea  ? 
What  marvel  if  he  filled  out  and  expanded,  with  that 
idea  which  was  in  his  heart,  the  brief  sketch  given  of 
her  in  the  gospels,  till  his  imagination  had  robed  the 
woman  of  the  Bible  with  the  majesty  of  the  Mother 
of  God  ?  Can  we  not  feel  that  it  must  have  been  so  ? 
Instead  of  a  dry,  formal  dogma  of  theology,  the 
Romanist  presented  an  actual  woman,  endued  with 
every  inward  grace  and  beauty,  and  pierced  by  sor- 
rows, as  a  living  object  of  devotion,  faith,  and  hope, — 
a  personality  instead  of  an  abstraction.  Historically 
speaking,  it  seems  inevitable  that  the  idea  could 
scarcely  have  been  expressed  to  the  world  except 
through  an  idolatry. 

Brethren,  it  is  an  idolatry  —  in  modern  Romanism,  a 
pernicious  and  most  defiling  one.  The  worship  of 
Mary  overshadows  the  worship  of  the  Son.  The  love 
given  to  her  is  so  much  taken  from  Him.  Neverthe- 
less, let  us  not  hide  from  ourselves  the  eternal  truth 
of  the  idea  that  lies  beneath  the  temporary  falsehood 


272  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE, 

of  the  dogma.  Overthrow  the  idolatry  ;  but  do  it  by 
Bubstituting  the  truth. 

Now,  the  truth  alone  which  can  supplant  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Virgin  is  the  perfect  humanity  of  Jesua 
Christ.  I  say  the  perfect  humaniti/ ;  for  perfect  man- 
hood is  a  very  ambiguous  expression.  By  man  we 
sometimes  mean  the  human  race,  made  up  of  nan 
and  woman,  and  sometimes  we  only  mean  the  mascu- 
line sex.  We  have  only  one  word  to  express  both 
ideas.  The  language  in  which  the  New  Testament 
was  written  has  two.  Hence  we  may  make  a  great 
mistake.  When  the  Bible  speaks  of  man  the  human 
being,  we  may  think  that  it  means  man  the  male  creat- 
ure. When  the  Bible  tells  us  Jesus  Christ  was  the 
Son  of  Man,  it  uses  the  word  which  implies  human 
being ;  it  does  not  use  the  word  which  signifies  one 
of  the  male  sex,  it  does  not  dwell  on  the  fact  that  He 
was  a  man,  but  it  earnestly  asserts  that  He  was  man. 
Son  of  a  man  He  was  not.  Son  of  Man  He  was  ;  for 
the  blood,  as  it  were,  of  all  the  race,  was  in  His  veins. 

Now,  let  us  see  what  is  implied  in  this  expression, 
Son  of  Man.  It  contains  in  it  the  doctrine  of  the 
Incarnation  ;  it  means  the  full  humanity  of  Christ. 
Lately  I  tried  to  bring  out  one  portion  of  its  meaning. 
I  said  that  He  belonged  to  no  particular  age,  but  to 
every  age.  He  had  not  the  qualities  of  one  clime  ci 
race,  but  that  which  is  common  to  all  climes  and  all 
races.  He  was  not  the  Son  of  the  Jew,  nor  the  Son 
of  the  Oriental,  —  He  was  the  Son  of  Man.  He  was 
not  the  villager  of  Bethlehem ;  nor  one  whose  charac- 
ter and  mind  were  the  result  of  a  certain  training, 
peculiar  to  Judea,  or  peculiar  to  that  century,  —  but 
He  was  the  Man.     This  is  what  St.  Paul  insists  on, 


THE   GLORY   OF    THE   VIRGIN   MOTHER.  273 

when  he  says  that  in  Him  there  is  neither  Jew  nor 
Gentile,  Barbarian,  Scythian,  bond  nor  free.  A  Hu- 
manity in  which  there  is  nothing  distinctive,  limited, 
or  peculiar,  but  universal,  —  your  nature  and  mine,  the 
Humanity  in  which  we  all  are  brothers,  bond  or  free. 
Now,  in  that  same  passage  St.  Paul  uses  another  very 
remarkable  expression :  "  There  is  neither  Jew  noi 
Greek,  there  is  neither  bond  nor  free,  there  is  neithei 
male  nor  female."  That  is  the  other  thing  implied  in 
His  title  to  the  Son  of  Man.  His  nature  had  in  it  the 
nature  of  all  nations ;  but  also  His  heart  had  in  it  the 
blended  qualities  of  both  sexes.  Our  humanity  is  a 
whole  made  up  of  two  opposite  poles  of  character, — 
the  manly  and  the  feminine.  In  the  character  of 
Christ  neither  was  found  exclusively,  but  both  in 
perfect  balance.  He  was  the  Son  of  Man  —  the 
human  being  -^  perfect  Man. 

There  was  in  Him  the  woman-heart  as  well  as  the 
manly  brain,  —  all  that  was  most  manly,  and  all  that 
was  most  womanly.  Remember  what  He  was  in 
life :  recollect  His  stern  iron  hardness  in  the  tempta- 
tion of  the  desert ;  recollect  the  calmness  that  never 
quailed  in  all  the  uproars  of  the  people,  the  truth 
that  never  paltered,  the  strict  severe  integrity  which 
characterized  the  Witness  of  the  Truth;  recollect 
the  justice  that  never  gave  way  to  weak  feeling, — 
which  let  the  rich  young  ruler  go  his  way  to  perish 
if  he  would, —  which  paid  the  tribute-money,  —  which 
held  the  balance  fair  between  the  persecuted  woman 
and  her  accuser,  but  did  not  suffer  itself  to  be 
betrayed  by  sympathy  into  any  feeble  tenderness, — 
the  justice  that  rebuked  Peter  with  indignation, 
and   pronounced   the   doom    of  Jerusalem    unswerv- 


274  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

ingly.  Here  is  one  side  or  pole  of  human  cbaractei, 
—  surely  not  the  feminine  side.  Now,  look  at  the 
other.  Recollect  the  twice-recorded  tears,  which  a 
man  would  have  been  ashamed  to  show,  and  which 
are  never  beautiful  in  man  except  when  joined  with 
strength  like  His  ;  and  recollect  the  sympathy  craved 
and  yearned  for  as  well  as  given,  —  the  shrinking 
from  solitude  in  prayer,  —  the  trembling  of  a  sor- 
row unto  death,  —  the  considerate  care  which  pro- 
vided bread  for  the  multitude,  and  said  to  the  tired 
disciples,  as  with  a  sister's  rather  than  a  brother's 
thoughtfulness,  "  Come  ye  apart  into  the  desert  and 
rest  a  while."  This  is  the  other  side  or  pole  of  human 
character,  —  surely  not  the  masculine. 

When  we  have  learnt  and  felt  what  is  meant  by 
Divine  Humanity  in  Christ,  and  when  we  have 
believed  it,  not  in  a  one  sided  way,  .but  in  all  its 
fulness,  then  we  are  safe  from  Mariolatry ;  because 
we  do  not  want  it  —  we  have  the  truth  which  Mariol- 
atry labors  to  express,  and,  laboring  ignorantly,  falls 
into  idolatry.  But,  so  long  as  the  male  was  looked 
upon  as  the  only  type  of  God,  and  the  masculine 
virtues  as  the  only  glory  of  His  character,  so  long 
the  truth  was  yet  uurevealed.  This  was  the  state 
of  heathenism.  And,  so  long  as  Christ  was  only 
felt  as  the  Divine  Man,  and  not  the  Divine  Humanity, 
BO  long  the  world  had  only  a  one-sided  truth. 

One-half  of  our  nature  —  the  sterner  portion  of  it  — 
only  was  felt  to  be  of  God  and  in  God.  The  other 
half —  the  tenderer  and  purer  qualities  of  our  souls  — 
were  felt  as  earthly.  This  was  the  state  of  Roman- 
ism from  which  men  tried  to  escape  by  Mariolatry. 
And,  if  men  had  not   learned    that   this   side    of  our 


THE   GLORY   OF   THE   VIRGIN   MOTHER.  275 

nature  too  was  made  Divine  in  Christ,  what  possible 
escape  was  there  for  them,  but  to  look  to  the  Virgin 
Mary  as  the  Incarnation  of  the  purer  and  lovelier 
elements  of  God's  character,  reserving  to  her  Son  tho 
sterner  and  the  more  masculine  ? 

Can  we  not  understand,  too,  how  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  Mother  was  placed  above  the  Son,  and  adored 
more  ?  Christianity  had  proclaimed  Meekness,  Purity, 
Obedience,  as  more  Divine  than  Strength  and  Wisdom. 
What  wonder  if  she  who  was  gazed  on  as  the  type  of 
Purity  should  be  reckoned  more  near  to  God  than  He 
who  had  come,  through  misconception,  to  be  looked  on 
chiefly  as  the  type  of  Strength  and  Justice  ? 

There  is  a  spirit  abroad  which  is  leading  men  to 
Rome.  Do  not  call  that  the  spirit  of  the  Devil.  It  is 
the  desire  and  hope  to  find  there,  in  its  tenderness,  and 
its  beauty,  and  its  devotion,  a  home  for  those  feelings 
of  awe,  and  contemplation,  and  love,  for  which  our 
stern  Protestantism  finds  no  shelter.  Let  us  acknowl- 
edge that  what  they  worship  is  indeed  deserving  of 
all  adoration ;  only  let  us  say  that  whcut  they  worship 
is,  ignorantly,  Christ.  Whom  they  ignorantly  worship 
let  us  declare  unto  them :  Christ,  their  unknown  God, 
worshipped  at  an  idol-altar.  Do  not  let  us  satisfy  our- 
selves by  saying,  as  a  watchword,  "  Christ,  not  Mary :  " 
say,  rather,  "  In  Christ  all  that  they  find  in  Mary."  The 
Mother  in  the  Son,  the  womanly  in  the  soul  of  Christ. 
Divine  Honor  to  the  Feminine  side  of  His  character; 
joyful  and  unvarying  acknowledgment  that  in  Christ 
there  is  a  revelation  of  the  Divineness  of  submission, 
and  love,  and  purity,  and  long-suffering,  just  as  there 
M'as  before,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  a  rov 


it^  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

elation  of  the  Divineness  of  courage,  and  strength, 
and  heroism,  and  manliness. 

Therefore  it  is  we  do  not  sympathize  with  thoae 
coarse  expositions  which  aim  at  doing  exclusive  honor 
to  the  Son  of  God  by  degrading  the  life  and  character 
of  the  Virgin.  Just  aa  the  Romanist  has  loved  to 
represent  all  connected  with  her  as  mysterious  and 
immaculate,  so  has  the  Protestant  been  disposed  to 
vulgarize  her  to  the  level  of  the  commonest  human- 
ity, and  exaggerate  into  rebukes  the  reverent  ex- 
pressions to  her  in  which  Jesus  asserted  His  Divine 
independence.  , 

Rather  reverence,  not  her,  but  that  Idea  and  type 
which  Christianity  has  given  in  her,  —  the  type  of 
Christian  womanhood  ;  which  was  not  realized  in  her, 
—  which  never  was  and  never  will  be  realized  in  one 
single  woman,  —  which  remains  ever  a  Divine  Idea, 
after  which  each  living  woman  is  to  strive. 

And  when  I  say  reverence  that  Idea  or  type,  I  am  but 
pointing  to  the  relation  between  the  Mother  and  the 
Son,  and  asking  men  to  reverence  that  which  He  rev- 
erenced. Think  we  that  there  is  no  meaning  hidden  in 
the  mystery  that  the  Son  of  God  was  the  Virgin's  Son  ? 
To  Him  through  life  there  remained  the  early  recollec- 
tions of  a  pure  mother.  Blessed  beyond  all  common 
blessedness  is  the  man  who  can  look  back  to  that.  G^d 
has  given  to  him  a  talisman  which  will  carry  him  tri- 
umphant through  many  a  temptation.  To  other  men 
purity  may  be  a  name  ;  to  him  it  has  been  once  a  real- 
ity. "  Faith  in  all  things  high  beats  with  his  blood."  He 
may  be  tempted  ;  he  may  err ;  but  there  will  be  a  light 
from  home  shining  forever  on  his  path  inextinguish- 
ably.    By  the  grace  of  God,  degraded  he  cannot  be. 


yix. 

[Preached  Jai   ary  30,  1853.] 

THE    FIRST    MIRACLE, 
n.    THE    GLORY    OF    THP   DIVINE    SON. 

John  iL  11  — "  This  beginning  of  miract'^9  did  Jesus  in  Cana  of  Gali- 
lee, and  manifested  forth  his  glory  ;  and  his  disciples  believed  on 
him." 

In  the  history  of  this  miracle,  tu'o  Dersonages  are 
brought  prominently  before  our  notice.  One  is  the 
Virgin  Mary  ;  the  other  is  the  Son  of  Go(^  And  these 
two  exhibit  different  orders  of  glory,  as  "^eU  as  differ- 
ent degrees.  Different  degrees :  for  tho  Virgin  was 
only  human ;  her  Son  was  God  manifest  in  th<^  flesh. 
Different  orders  of  glory :  for  the  one  exhibited  thft 
distinctive  glory  of  womanhood  ;  the  Other  manife  •tet' 
forth  His  glory,  —  the  glory  of  perfect  manhood. 

Taking  the  Virgin  as  the  type  and  representative  c* 
her  sex,  we  found  the  glory  of  womanhood,  as  ct 
hibited  by  her  conduct  in  this  parable,  to  consist  ir 
unselfish  considerateness  about  others ;  in  delicacy  of 
tact ;  in  the  power  of  ennobling  a  ministry  of  coarsfc 
and  household  things,  like  the  wine  of  the  marriage 
feast,  by  the  sanctity  of  affection ;  in  meekness  and 
lowly  obedience,  which  was  in  the  Fall  her  curse, 
in  Christ  her  glory,  transformed  into  a  blessing  and  a 
24  C277) 


278  THE  FIRST   MIRACLE. 

power;  and  lastly,  as  the  name  Yirgin  implies,  thrt 
distinctive  glory  of  womanhood  we  found  to  consist 
in  purity. 

Now,  the  Christian  history  first  revealed  these  great 
truths.  The  gospels  which  record  the  life  of  Christ 
first,  in  the  history  of  the  Avorld,  brought  to  light  the 
Divine  glory  of  those  quahties  which  had  been  des- 
pised. Before  Christ  came,  the  heathen  had  counted 
for  divine  the  legislative  wisdom  of  the  man,  —  manly 
strength,  manly  truth,  manly  justice,  manly  courage. 
The  life  and  the  Cross  of  Christ  shed  a  splendor  from 
heaven  upon  a  new  and  till  then  unheard-of  order  of 
heroism,  —  that  which  may  be  called  the  feminine  or* 
der,  —  meekness,  endurance,  long-sufiering,  the  passive 
strength  of  martyrdom.  For  Christianity  does  not 
say,  Honor  to  the  Wise,  but,  "  Blessed  are  the  Meek.'' 
Not,  Glory  to  the  Strong,  but,  "  Blessed  are  the  pure 
in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God."  Not,  The  Lord  is  a 
man  of  war,  Jehovah  is  His  name,  but,  "  God  is  Love." 
In  Christ,  not  intellect,  but  love,  is  consecrated.  In 
Christ  is  magnified,  not  force  of  will,  but  the  Glory  of 
a  Divine  humility.  "  He  was  obedient  unto  death, 
even  the  death  of  the  cross ;  wherefore  God  also  hath 
highly  exalted  Him." 

Therefore  it  was,  that  from  that  time  forward  wom- 
anhood assumed  a  new  place  in  this  world.  She  in 
whom  these  qualities,  for  the  first  time  declared  Divine 
in  Christ,  were  the  distinctive  characteristics,  steadily 
and  gradually  rose  to  a  higher  dignity  in  human  life. 
It  is  not  to  mere  civilization,  but  to  the  Spirit  of  life 
in  Christ,  tiiat  woman  owes  all  she  has,  and  all  she  haa 
yet  to  gain. 

Now,  the  outward  phases  in  which  this  Redemption 


THE   GLORY    OF   THE    DIVINE   SON.  279 

of  the  sex  appeared  to  the  world  have  been,  as  yet, 
chiefly  three.  There  have  been  three  ages  through 
which  these  great  truths  of  the  Divineness  of  purity, 
and  the  strength  and  glory  of  obedience,  the  peculiar 
characteristics  of  womanhood,  have  been  rising  into 
their  right  acknowledgment.  1.  The  ages  of  Virgin- 
worsliip.  2.  The  ages  of  Chivalry.  3.  The  age  of 
the  three  last  centuries.  Now,  during  the  three  Prot- 
estant centuries,  the  place  and  destinies  of  woman- 
hood have  been  every  year  rising  more  and  more  into 
great  questions.  Her  mission,  as  it  is  called  in  the 
cant  language  of  the  day  —  what  it  is  —  that  is  one  of 
the  subjects  of  deepest  interest  in  the  controversies  of 
the  day.  And,  unless  we  are  prepared  to  say  that  the 
truth,  which  has  been  growing  clearer  and  brighter  for 
eighteen  centuries,  shall  stop  now  exactly  where  it  is, 
and  grow  no  clearer, — unless  we  -are  ready  to  affirm 
that  mankind  will  never  learn  to  pay  less  glory  to 
strength  and  intellect,  and  more  to  meekness,  and  hum- 
bleness, and  pureness,  than  they  do  now,  —  it  follows 
that  God  has  yet  reserved  for  womanhood  a  larger  and 
more  glorious  field  for  her  peculiar  qualities  and  gifts, 
and  that  the  truth  contained  in  the  Virgin's  mother- 
hood is  unexhausted  stUl. 

For  this  reason,  in  reference  to  that  womanhood 
and  its  destinies,  of  which  St.  Mary  is  the  type,  I 
thought  it  needful  last  Sunday  to  insist  on  two  things, 
as  of  profound  importance. 

First,  To  declare  in  what  her  true  glory  consists. 
The  only  glory  of  the  Virgin  was  the  glory  of  true 
womanhood.  The  glory  of  true  womanhood  consists 
in  being  herself;  not  in  striving  to  be  something  else. 
It  is  the  false  paradox  and  heresy  of  this  present  age 


280-'  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

to  claim  for  her  as  a  glory  the  right  to  leave  her 
sphere.  Her  glory  lies  in  her  sphere,  and  God  has 
given  her  a  sphere  distinct ;  as  in  the  Epistle  to  the 
church  of  Corinth,  when,  in  that  wise  chapter,  St. 
Paul  rendered  unto  womanhood  the  things  which  were 
woman's,  and  unto  manhood  the  things  which  were 
man's. 

And  the  true  correction  of  that  monstrous  rebellion 
against  what  is  natural  lies  in  vindicating  Mary's  glory, 
on  the  one  side,  from  the  Romanist,  who  gives  to  her 
the  glory  of  God ;  and,  on  the  other,  from  those  who 
would  confound  the  distinctive  glories  of  the  two 
sexes,  and  claim  as  the  glory  of  woman  what  is,  in  the 
deeps  of  nature,  the  glory  of  the  man. 

Everything  is  created  in  its  own  order.  Every  cre- 
ated thing  has  its  own  glory.  "  There  is  one  glory  of 
the  sun,  another  glory  of  the  moon,  and  another  glory 
of  the  stars ;  for  one  star  differeth  from  another  star 
in  glory."  There  is  one  glory  of  Manhood,  and  an- 
other glory  of  Womanhood.  And  the  glory  of  each 
created  thing  consists  in  being  true  to  its  own  nature, 
and  moving  in  its  own  sphere. 

Mary's  glory  was  not  immaculate  origin,  nor  im- 
maculate life,  nor  exaltation  to  Divine  honors.  She 
had  none  of  these  things.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  it  Force,  or  demanded  rights,  social  or  domestic, 
that  constituted  her  glory.  But  it  was  the  glory  of 
simple  womanhood;  the  glory  of  being  true  to  the 
nature  assigned  her  by  her  Maker ;  the  glory  of  moth- 
erhood ;  the  glory  of  "  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which 
in  the  sight  of  God  is  of  great  price."  She  was  not 
the  Queen  of  Heaven ;  but  she  was  something  nobler 
still,  a  creature  content  to  be  what  God  had  made  her; 


THE   GLORY  OF   TJJ   LIVINE  SON.  281 

in  unselfishness,  and  humblajjss,  and  purity,  rejoicing 
in  God,  her  Saviour,  content  that  He  had  regarded  the 
JOwHness  of  His  handmaiden. 

The  second  thing  upon  which  I  insisted  was,  that 
the  only  safeguard  against  the  idolatrous  error  of 
Virgin- worship  is  a  full  recognition  of  the  perfect 
Humanity  of  Christ.  A  full  recognition;  for  it  ia 
only  a  partial  acknowledgment  of  the  meaning  of  th& 
Incarnation  when  we  think  of  Him  as  the  Divine  Man. 
It  was  not  manhood,  but  humanity,  that  was  made  Di- 
vine in  Him.  Humanity  has  its  two  sides:  —  one  side 
in  the  strength  and  intellect  of  manhood ;  the  other 
in  the  tenderness,  and  faith,  and  submissiveness,  of 
womanhood :  Man  and  Woman,  not  man  alone,  make 
up  human  nature.  In  Christ,  not  one  alone,  but  both, 
were  glorified.  Strength  and  Grace,  "Wisdom  and 
Love,  Courage  and  Purity,  —  Divine  Manliness,  Divine 
Womanliness.  In  aU  noble  characters  you  find  the 
two  blended;  in  Him  —  the  noblest  —  blended  into 
one  entire  and  perfect  Humanity. 

Unless  you  recognize  and  fully  utter  this  whole 
truth,  you  wiU  find  Mariolatry  forever  returning,  cut 
it  down  as  you  will.  It  must  come  back.  It  wiU 
come  back.  I  had  well-nigh  said,  it  ought  to  come 
back,  unless  we  preach  and  believe  the  full  truth  of 
God  incarnate  in  Humanity.  For,  while  we  teach  in 
our  classical  schools,  as  the  only  manliness.  Pagan 
leroism  of  warrior  and  legislator,  can  we  say  that  wo 
are  teaching  both  sides  of  Christ?  Our  souls  were 
trained  in  boyhood  to  honor  the  heroic  and  the  mas- 
culine. Who  ever  hinted  to  us  that  charity  is  the 
*'  more  excellent    vay "  ?      Who    suggested   that  "  he 


282  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

which  ruleth  his  spi<i'it  is  greater  than  he  which  taketh 
a  city  "  ? 

Again,  we  find  our  Enghsh  society  divided  into  two 
sections :  One  the  men  of  business  and  action,  exhib- 
iting prominently  the  masculine  virtues  of  English 
character,  truth  and  honor,  and  almost  taught  to  reckon 
forbearance  and  feeling  as  proofs  of  weakness  ;  taught 
in  the  playground  to  believe  that  a  chaste  life  is  ro- 
mance— false  sentiment  and  strengthlessness  of  charac- 
ter taught  there ;  and  in  after-hfe,  that  it  is  mean  to 
forgive  a  personal  affront. 

The  other  section  of  our  society  is  made  up  of  men 
of  prayer  and  rehgiousness  ;  for  some  reason  or  other, 
singularly  deficient  in  masculine  breadth  and  strength, 
and  even  truthfulness  of  character;  with  no  firm  foot- 
ing upon  reality,  not  daring  to  look  the  real  problems 
of  social  and  political  life  in  the  face,  but  wasting  their 
strength  in  disputes  of  words,  or  shrinking  into  a  dim 
atmosphere  of  ecclesiastical  dreaminess,  unreal  and 
effeminate.  Dare  we  say  that  the  fuU  Humanity  of 
Christ,  in  its  double  aspect,  is  practically  adored  amongst 
us  ?  Have  we  not  made  a  fatal  separation  between  the 
manly  and  the  feminine  of  character?  —  between  the 
moral  and  the  devout,  so  that  we  have  men  who  are 
masculine  and  moral,  and  also  men  who  are  effeminate 
and  devout?  But  where  are  our  Christian  men,  in 
whom  the  whole  Christ  is  formed, —  all  that  is  brave, and 
true,  and  wise,  and  at  the  same  time  all  that  is  tender, 
and  devout,  and  pure  ?  Who  ever  taught  us  to  adore 
in  Christ  all  that  is  most  manly,  and  all  that  is  most 
womanly,  that  we  might  strive  to  be  such  in  our  degree 
ourselves  ?    And  if  not,  can  you  wonder  that  men,  feel- 


THE   GLORY   OF   THE   DIVINE   SON.  283 

ing  their  Christianity  imperfect,  blindly  strive  to  patch 
it  up  through  Mariolotry  ? 

I  gather  into  a  few  sentences  the  substance  of  what 
was  said  last  Sunday.  I  said  that  Christianity  exhib- 
ited the  Divine  glory  of  the  weaker  elements  of  our 
human  nature.  Heathenism,  nay,  even  Judaism,  had 
as  yet  before  Him  only  recognized  the  glory  of  the 
stronger  and  masctihne.  Now,  the  Romanist  person 
ified  the  masculine  side  of  human  nature  in  Christ. 
He  personified  gentleness  and  purity,  the  feminine 
side  of  human  nature,  in  the  Virgin  Mary.  No  won- 
der that,  with  this  cardinal  error  at  the  outset  in  hia 
conceptions,  he  adored ;  and  no  wonder,  since  Chris- 
tianity declared  meekness  and  purity  more  Divine 
than  strength  and  intellect,  in  process  of  time  he 
came  to  honor  the  Virgin  more  than  Christ.  That  I 
believe  is  the  true  history  and  account  of  Virgin 
worship. 

The  Bible  personifies  both  sides  of  human  nature 
the  masculine  and  feminine  of  character,  in  Christ,  oi 
whom  St.  Paul  declares,  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Gala- 
tians,  "  In  him  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  bond  nor 
free,  male  nor  female."  Neither  distinctively,  for  in 
Him  both  the  manly  and  the  womanly  of  character 
divinely  meet.  I  say,  therefore,  that  the  Incarnation 
of  God  in  Christ  is  the  true  defence  against  Virgin- 
worship. 

Think  of  Christ  only  as  the  masculine  character, 
glorified  by  the  union  of  Godhead  with  it,  and  your 
Christianity  has  in  it  an  awful  gap,  a  void,  a  want, 
—  the  inevitable  supply  and  relief  to  which  will  be 
Mariolatry,  however  secure  you  may  think  yourself, 
however  strong  and  fierce  the  language  you  noW  use. 


284  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

Men  who  have  used  language  as  strong  and  fierce 
have  become  idolaters  of  Mary.  With  a  half-thought 
of  Christ,  safe  you  are  not.  But  think  of  Him  as  the 
Divine  Human  Being,  in  whom  both  sides  of  our 
double  being  are  divine  and  glorified,  and  then  you 
have  the  truth  which  Romanism  has  marred,  and  per- 
verted into  an  idolatry  pernicious  in  all ;  in  the  less 
spiritual  worshippers  sensualizing  and  debasing. 

Now,  there  are  two  ways  of  meeting  error.  The 
one  is  that  in  which,  in  humble  imitation  of  Christ 
and  His  apostles,  I  have  tried  to  show  you  the  error 
of  the  worship  of  Mary,  —  to  discern  the  truth  out  of 
which  the  error  sprung,  firmly  asserting  the  truth,  for- 
bearing threatening ;  certain  that  he  in  whose  mind 
the  truth  has  lodged  has  in  that  truth  the  safeguard 
against  error. 

The  other  way  of  meeting  error  is  to  overwhelm  it 
with  threats.  To  some  men  it  seems  the  only  way  in 
which  true  zeal  is  shown.  Well,  it  is  very  easy,  re- 
quiring no  self-control,  but  only  an  indulgence  of  every 
bad  passion.  It  is  very  easy  to  call  Rome  the  mother 
of  harlots  and  abominations ;  very  easy  to  use  strong 
language  about  damnable  idolatries  ;  very  easy  for  the 
apostles  to  call  down  fire  from  heaven  upon  the  Samar- 
itans, because  they  would  not  receive  Christ,  and  then 
to  flatter  themselves  that  that  was  Godly  zeal.  But  it 
luight  be  well  for  us  to  remember  His  somewhat  start- 
ling comment :  "  Ye  know  not  what  manner  of  spirit  ye 
are  of."  There  are  those  who  think  it  a  surer  and  a  safer 
Protestantism  to  use  those  popular  watchwords.  Be 
it  so.  But,  with  God's  blessing,  that  will  not  /.  The 
majesty  of  truth  needs  other  bulwarks  than  vulgar  and 
cowardly  vituperation.     Coarse  language  and  violent, 


THE   GLOEY  OF   THE  DIVIXE   SON.  285 

excusable  threa  hundred  years  ago  by  the  manners  of 
that  day,  was  bold  and  brave  in  the  lips  of  the  Ee- 
formers,  with  whom  the  struggle  was  one  of  life  and 
death,  and  who  might  be  called  to  pay  the  penalty  of 
their  bold  defiances  with  their  blood.  But  the  same 
fierceness  of  language  now,  when  there  is  no  personal 
risk  in  the  use  of  it,  in  the  midst  of  hundreds  of  men 
and  women  ready  to  applaud  and  honor  violence  aa 
zeal,  is  simply  a  dastardhness  from  which  every  gen- 
erous mind  shrinks.  You  do  not  get  the  Reformers' 
spirit  by  putting  on  the  armor  they  have  done  with, 
but  by  risking  the  dangers  which  those  noble  warriors 
risked.  It  is  not  their  big  words,  but  their  large, 
brave  heart,  that  makes  the  Protestant.  0,  be  sure 
that  he  whose  soul  has  anchored  itself  to  rest  on  the 
deep,  calm  sea  of  Truth,  does  not  spend  his  strength 
in  raving  against  those  who  are  still  tossed  by  the 
winds  of  error.  Spasmodic  violence  of  words  is  one 
thing,  strength  of  conviction  is  another. 

When,  0,  when  shall  we  learn  that  loyalty  to  Christ 
is  tested  far  more  by  the  strength  of  our  Sympathy 
with  Truth  than  by  the  intensity  of  our  hatred  of  error ! 
I  will  tell  you  what  to  hate.  Hate  Hypocrisy;  hate 
Cant ;  hate  intolerance,  oppression,  injustice ;  hate 
Pharisaism; — hate  them  as  Christ  hated  them,  with  a 
deep,  living,  Godlike  hatred.  But  do  not  hate  men  in 
intellectual  error.  To  hate  a  man  for  his  errors  is  as 
unwise  as  to  hate  one  who,  in  casting  up  an  account, 
has  made  an  error  against  himself.  The  Romanist  has 
made  an  error  against  himself.  He  has  missed  the  full 
glory  of  his  Lord  and  Master.  Well,  shall  we  hate 
him,  and  curse,  and  rant,  and  thunder  at  him?  Or 
shall  we  sit  down   beside  him,  and  try  to  sympathize 


286  THE  FIRST  MIEACLE. 

with  him,  .and  see  things  from  his  point  of  viow,  and 
strive  to  understand  the  truth  which  his  soul  is  aiming 
at,  and  seize  the  truth  for  him  and  for  ourselves, 
"  meekly  instructing  those  who  oppose  themselves  "  ? 

Our  subject  to-day  is  the  glory  of  the  Divine  Son. 

In  that  miracle,  ''  He  manifested  forth  His  glory." 
Concerning  that  glory  we  say : 

1.  The  glory  of  Christ  did  not  begin  with  that  mira- 
cle ;  the  miracle  only  manifested  it.  For  thirty  years 
the  wonder-working  power  had  been  in  Him.  It  was 
not  Diviner  power  when  it  broke  forth  into  visible 
manifestation,  than  it  had  been  when  it  was  unsus- 
pected and  unseen.  It  had  been  exercised  up  to  this 
time  in  common  acts  of  youthful  life  —  obedience  to  his 
mother,  love  to  his  brethren.  Well,  it  was  just  as 
Divine  in  those  simple,  daily  acts,  as  when  it  showed 
itself  in  a  way  startling  and  wonderful.  It  was  just  as 
much  the  life  of  God  on  Earth  when  He  did  an  act  of 
ordinary  human  love  or  human  duty,  as  when  He  did 
an  extraordinary  act,  such  as  turning  water  into  wine. 
God  was  as  much,  nay,  more,  in  the  daily  life  and  love 
of  Christ,  than  He  was  in  Christ's  miracles.  The  mira- 
cle only  made  the  hidden  glory  visible.  The  extraor- 
dinary only  proved  that  the  ordinary  was  Divine. 
That  was  the  very  object  of  the  miracle.  It  was  done 
to  manifest  forth  His  glory.  And  if,  instead  of  rousing 
men  to  see  the  real  glory  of  Christ  in  His  other  hfe, 
the  miracle  merely  fastened  men's  attention  on  itself, 
and  made  them  think  that  the  only  Glory  which  is 
Divine  is  to  be  found  in  what  is  wonderful  and  un- 
common, then  the  whole  intention  of  the  miracle  was 
lost. 

Let  us  make  this  more  plain  by  an  illustration.     To 


THE   GLOEY   OP   THE   DIVINE  SON.  287 

the  wise  man,  the  Hghtning  only  manifests  the  electric 
force  which  is  everywhere,  and  which  for  one  moment 
has  become  visible.  As  often  as  he  sees  it,  it  reminds 
him  that  the  lightning  slumbers  invisibly  in  the  dew- 
drop,  and  in  the  mist,  and  in  the  cloud,  and  binds 
together  every  atom  of  the  water  that  he  uses  in  daily 
life.  But  to  the  vulgar  mind  the  lightning  is  some- 
thing unique,  a  something  which  has  no  existence  but 
when  it  appears.  There  is  a  fearful  glory  in  the  light- 
ning, because  he  sees  it.  But  there  is  no  startling 
glory  and  nothing  fearful  in  the  drop  of  dew,  because 
he  does  not  know,  what  the  Thinker  knows,  that  the 
flash  is  there  in  all  its  terrors. 

So,  in  the  same  way,  to  the  half-believer  a  miracle 
is  the  one  solitary  evidence  of  God.  Without  it  he 
could  have  no  certainty  of  God's  existence. 

But  to  the  true  disciple  a  miracle  only  manifests  the 
Power  and  Love  which  are  silently  at  work  every- 
where, —  as  truly  and  as  really  in  the  slow  work  of 
the  cure  of  the  insane,  as  in  the  sudden  expulsion  of 
the  legion  from  the  demoniac,  —  as  divinely  in  the  gift 
of  daily  bread,  as  in  the  miraculous  multiplication  of 
the  loaves.  God's  glory  is  at  work  in  the  growth  of 
the  vine,  and  the  ripening  of  the  grape,,  and  the  process 
by  which  grape-juice  passes  into  wine.  It  is  not  more 
glory,  but  only  glory  more  manifested,  when  water  at  His 
bidding  passes  into  wine.  And  be  sure  that  if  you  do 
not  feel,  as  David  felt,  God's  presence  in  the  annual 
miracle, — that  it  is  God,  which  in  the  vintage  of  every 
year  causeth  wine  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  man, — the 
sudden  miracle  at  Capernaum  would  not  have  given 
you  conviction  of  His  presence.  "  If  you  hear  not 
Moses  and  the  prophets,  neither  will  you  be  persuaded 


288  THE  FIRST  MIRACLE. 

though  one  rose  from  the  dead."  Miracles  have  only 
done  their  work  when  they  teach  us  the  glory  and  the 
awfulness  that  surrounds  our  common  life.  In  a  mira- 
cle, God  for  one  moment  shows  Himself,  that  we  may 
remember  it  is  He  that  is  at  work  when  no  miracle  is 
seen. 

Now,  this  is  the  deep  truth  of  miracles,  which  most 
men  miss.  They  believe  that  the  life  of  Jesus  was 
Divine,  because  He  wrought  miracles.  But,  if  their 
faith  in  miracles  were  shaken,  their  faith  in  Christ 
would  go.  If  the  evidence  for  the  credibility  of  those 
miracles  were  weakened,  then  to  them  the  mystic 
glory  would  have  faded  off  His  history.  They  could 
not  be  sure  that  His  Existence  was  Divine.  That 
love,  even  unto  death,  would  bear  no  certain  stamp  of 
God  upon  it.  That  life  of  long  self-sacrifice  would 
have  had  in  it  no  certain  unquestionable  traces  of  the 
Son  of  God.  See  what  that  implies.  If  that  be  true, 
and  miracles  are  the  best  proof  of  Christ's  mission, 
God  can  be  recognized  in  what  is  marvellous  —  God 
cannot  be  recognized  in  what  is  good.  It  is  by  Divine 
power  that  a  human  being  turns  water  into  wine.  It 
is  by  power  less  certainly  Divine  that  the  same  being 
witnesses  to  truth  —  forgives  His  enemies  —  makes  it 
His  meat  and  drink  to  do  His  Father's  will,  and  finishes 
His  work.  We  are  more  sure  that  God  was  in  Christ 
when  He  said,  "  Rise  up,  and  walk,"  than  when  He 
said,  with  absolving  love,  "  Son,  thy  sins  be  forgiven 
thee  ;  "  more  certain  when  He  furnished  wine  for  wed- 
ding guests,  than  when  He  said,  "  Father,  forgive 
them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do."  0,  a  strange, 
and  low,  and  vulgar  appreciation  this  of  the  true  glory 
of  the  Son  of  God,  the  same  false  conception  that  runs 


i 


THE  GLOEY  OP  THE  DIVINE  SON.        289 

through  all  our  life,  appearing  in  every  form,  —  God  in 
the  storm,  and  the  earthquake,  and  the  fire,  —  no  God 
in  the  still  small  voice.  Glory  in  the  lightning-flash, — 
no  glory  and  no  God  in  the  lowliness  of  the  dew-drop. 
Glory  to  intellect  and  genius,  —  no  glory  to  gentleness 
and  patience.  Glory  to  every  kind  of  power,  —  none 
to  the  inward,  invisible  strength  of  the  life  of  God  in 
the  soul  of  man. 

"  An  evil  and  an  adulterous  generation  seeketh  after 
a  sign."  Look  at  the  feverish  eagerness  with  which 
men  crowd  to  every  exhibition  of  some  newly  discov- 
ered Force,  real  or  pretended.  What  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  this  feverishness  but  an  unbelieving  craving  after 
signs? — some  wonder  which  is  to  show  them  the  Divine 
Life,  of  which  the  evidence  is  yet  imperfect?  As  if 
the  bread  they  eat  and  the  wine  they  drink,  chosen  by 
God  for  the  emblems  of  his  sacraments  because  the 
commonest  things  of  daily  life,  were  not  filled  with  the 
Presence  of  His  love  ;  as  if  God  were  not  around  their 
path,  and  beside  their  bed,  and  spying  out  all  their 
daily  ways. 

It  is  in  this  strange  way  that  we  have  learned  Christ. 
The  miracles  which  were  meant  to  point  us  to  the 
Divinity  of  His  Goodness  have  only  dazzled  us  with 
the  splendor  of  their  Power.  We  have  forgotten  what 
His  first  wonder-work  shows,  that  a  miracle  is  only 
manifested  glory. 

2.  It  was  the  glory  of  Christ  again  to  sanctify,  that 
is,  declare  the  sacredness  of  all  things  natural.  All 
natural  relationships,  —  all  natural  enjoyments. 

Ail  natural  relationships.  What  He  sanctified  by 
His  presence  was  a  marriage.  Now,  remember  what 
had  gone  before  this.  The  life  of  John  the  Baptist 
25 


290  THE   FIRST   MIRACLE. 

was  the  highest  form  of  religious  life  known  in  Israel. 
It  was  the  life  ascetic.  It  was  the  life  of  solitariness 
and  penitential  austerity.  He  drank  no  wine ;  he  ate 
no  pleasant  food ;  he  married  no  wife ;  he  entered  into 
no  human  relationship.  It  was  the  law  of  that  stern 
and  in  its  way  sublime  life,  to  cut  out  every  human 
feeling  as  a  weakness,  and  to  mortify  every  natural 
instinct,  in  order  to  cultivate  an  intenser  spirituality. 
A  life  in  its  own  order  grand,  but  indisputably  unnatu- 
ral. 

Now,  the  first  public  act  of  our  Redeemer's  life  is  to 
go  with  with  His  disciples  to  a  marriage.  He  conse- 
crates marriage,  and  the  sympathies  which  lead  to 
marriage.  He  declares  the  sacredness  of  feelings 
which  had  been  reckoned  carnal,  and  low,  and  human. 
He  stamps  His  image  on  human  joys,  human  connec- 
tions, human  relationships.  He  pronounces  that  they 
are  more  than  human,  —  as  it  were,  sacramental ;  the 
means  whereby  God's  presence  comes  to  us  ;  the  types 
and  shadows  whereby  higher  and  deeper  relationships 
become  possible  to  us.  For  it  is  through  our  human 
affections  that  the  soul  first  learns  to  feel  that  its  des- 
tiny is  Divine.  It  is  through  a  mortal  yearning,  unsat- 
isfied, that  the  spirit  ascends,  seeking  a  higher  object. 
It  is  through  the  gush  of  our  human  tendernesses  that 
the  Immortal  and  the  Infinite  in  us  reveals  itself. 
Never  does  a  man  know  the  force  that  is  in  him  till 
some  mighty  affection  or  grief  has  humanized  the  soul. 
It  is  by  an  earthly  relationship  that  God  has  typified 
to  us  and  helped  us  to  conceive  the  only  true  Espousal 
—  the  marriage  of  the  soul  to  her  Eternal  Lord. 

It  was  the  glory  of  Christianity  to   pronounce  all 
these  human  feelings  sacred ;  therefore  it  is  that  the 


THE   GLORY    OF   THE    DIVINE   SON.  291 

Church  asserts  their  sacredness  in  a  religious  cere^ 
mony ;  for  example,  that  of  marriage.  Do  not  mistake. 
It  is  not  the  ceremony  that  makes  a  thing  religious  ;  a 
ceremony  can  only  declare  a  thing  religious.  The 
church  cannot  make  sacred  that  which  is  not  sacred. 
She  is  but  here  on  earth  as  the  moon,  the  witness  of 
the  light  in  heaven — by  her  ceremonies  and  by  her 
institutions,  to  bear  witness  to  eternal  truths.  She 
cannot  by  her  manipulations  manufacture  a  child  of 
the  devil,  through  baptism,  into  a  child  of  God ;  she 
can  only  authoritatively  declare  the  sublime  truth, — he 
is  not  the  devil's  child,  but  God's  child,  by  right.  She 
cannot  make  the  bond  of  marriage  sacred  and  indisso- 
luble ;  she  can  only  witness  to  the  sacredness  of  that 
which  the  union  of  two  spirits  has  already  made  ;  and 
such  are  her  own  words.  Her  minister  is  commanded 
by  her  to  say,  "  Forasmuch  as  these  two  persons 
have  consented  together, ^^  —  there  is  the  sacred  Fact  of 
Nature;  —  "I  pronounce  that  they  be  man  and  wife," 
—  here  is  the  authoritative  witness  to  the  fact. 

Again,  it  was  His  glory  to  declare  the  sacredness  of 
all  natural  enjoyments. 

It  was  not  a  marriage  only,  but  a  marriageyeos^,  to 
which  Christ  conducted  His  disciples.  Now,  we  can- 
not get  over  this  plain  fact,  by  saying  that  it  was  a 
religious  ceremony ;  that  would  be  mere  sophistry. 
It  was  an  indulgence  in  the  festivity  of  life  ;  as  plainly 
as  words  can  describe,  here  was  a  banquet  of  human 
enjoyment.  The  very  language  of  the  master  of  the 
feast  about  men  who  had  well  drunk  tells  us  that 
there  had  been,  not  excess,  of  course,  but  happiness 
there,  and  merry-making. 

Neither  can  we  explain  away  the  lesson  by  saying 


292  THE  FLRST    MIRACLE. 

that  it  is  no  example  to  us ;  for  Christ  was  there  to  do 
good,  and  that  what  was  safe  for  Him  miglt  be  unsafe 
for  us.  For  if  His  Hfe  is  no  pattern  for  us  here  in 
this  case  of  accepting  an  invitation,  in  what  can  we  be 
sure  it  is  a  pattern  ?  Besides,  He  took  His  disciples 
there,  and  His  mother  was  there  ;  they  were  not 
shielded,  as  He  was,  by  immaculate  purity.  He  was 
there  as  a  guest  at  first,  as  Messiah  only  afterwards  ; 
thereby  He  declared  the  sacredness  of  natural  enjoy- 
ments. 

Here  again,  then,  Christ  manifested  His  peculiar 
glory.  The  Temptation  of  the  Wilderness  was  past ; 
the  baptism  of  John,  and  the  life  of  abstinence  to 
which  it  introduced,  were  over ;  and  now  the  Bride- 
groom comes  before  the  world  in  the  true  glory  of 
Messiah,  —  not  in  the  life  of  asceticism,  but  in  the 
life  of  Godliness,  —  not  separating  from  life,  but 
consecrating  it  ;  carrying  a  Divine  spirit  into  every 
simplest  act,  —  accepting  an  invitation  to  a  feast 
—  giving  to  water  the  virtue  of  a  nobler  beverage. 
For  Christianity  does  not  destroy  what  is  natural,  but 
ennobles  it.  To  turn  water  into  wine,  and  what  is 
common  into  what  is  holy,  is  indeed  the  glory  of 
Christianity. 

The  ascetic  life  of  abstinence,  of  fasting,  austerity, 
singularity,  is  the  lower  and  earthlier  form  of  religion. 
The  life  of  Godliness  is  the  glory  of  Christ.  It  is  a 
thing  far  more  striking  to  the  vulgar  imagination  to 
be  religious  after  the  type  and  pattern  of  John  the 
Baptist,  —  to  fast,  to  mortify  every  inclination,  to  be 
found  at  no  feast,  to  wrap  ourselves  in  solitariness, 
and  abstain  from  all  social  joys  ;  yes,  and  far  easier  so 
to  live,  and  far  easier  so  to  win  a  character  for  reli- 


THE   GLORY   OF   THE   DIVINE  SON.  293 

giousness.  A  silent  man  is  easily  reputed  wise.  A 
man  who  suffers  none  to  see  him  in  the  common  jostle 
and  undress  of  life  easily  gathers  round  him  a  myste- 
rious veil  of  unknown  sanctity,  and  men  honor  him 
for  a  saint.  The  unknown  is  always  wonderful.  But 
the  life  of  Him  whom  men  called  a  gluttonous  man 
and  a  winebibber,  a  friend  of  publicans  and  sinners, 
was  a  far  harder  and  a  far  heavenlier  rehgion.  To 
shroud  ourselves  in  no  false  mist  of  holiness :  to  dare 
to  show  ourselves  as  we  are,  making  no  solemn  affec- 
tation of  reserve  or  difference  from  others ;  to  be 
found  at  the  marriage-feast ;  to  accept  the  invitation 
of  the  rich  Pharisee  Simon,  and  the  scorned  publican 
Zaccheus  ;  to  mix  with  the  crowd  of  men,  using  no 
affected  singularity,  content  to  be  creatures  not  too 
bright  or  good  for  human  nature's  daily  food  :  and  yet 
for  a  man  amidst  it  all  to  remain  a  consecrated  spirit, 
His  trials  and  His  solitariness  known  only  to  His 
Father ;  a  being  set  apart,  not  of  this  world,  alone  in 
the  heart's  deeps  with  God  ;  to  put  the  cup  of  this 
world's  gladness  to  His  lips,  and  yet  be  unintoxicated  ; 
to  gaze  steadily  on  all  its  grandeur,  and  yet  be  undaz- 
zled,  plain  and  simple  in  personal  desires  ;  to  feel  its 
brightness,  and  yet  defy  its  thrall ;  —  this  is  the  diffi- 
cult, and  rare,  and  glorious  life  of  God  in  the  soul 
of  Man.  This,  this  was  the  peculiar  glory  of  the  life 
of  Christ,  which  was  manifested  in  that  first  miracle 
which  Jesus  wrought  at  the  marriage-feast  in  Cana  of 
Galilee. 

25* 


XX. 

[Preached  March  20,  1853.] 

THE    GOOD    SHEPHERD. 

John  x.  14,  15.  —  "I  am  the  good  shepherd,  and  know  my  sheep,  and 
am  known  of  mine.  As  the  Father  knoweth  me,  even  so  know  I  the 
Father;  and  I  lay  down  my  life  for  the  sheep." 

As  these  words  stand  in  the  English  translation,  it 
is  hard  to  see  any  connection  between  the  thoughts 
that  are  brought  together. 

It  is  asserted  that  Christ  is  the  good  Shepherd,  and 
knows  His  sheep.  It  is  also  asserted  that  He  knows 
the  Father ;  but  between  these  two  truths  there  is  no 
express  connection.  And,  again,  it  is  declared  that 
He  lays  down  His  life  for  the  sheep.  This  follows 
directly  after  the  assertion  that  He  knows  the  Father. 
Again,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  say  what  one  of  these  truths 
has  to  do  with  the  other. 

But  the  whole  difficulty  vanishes  with  the  alteration 
of  a  single  stop  and  a  single  word.  Let  the  words 
"  even  so  "  be  exchanged  for  the  word  "  and."  Four 
times,  in  these  verses  the  same  word  occurs.  Three 
times  out  of  these  four  it  is  translated  "  and,"  —  and 
know  my  sheep,  and  am  known,  and  I  lay  down  my 
life.     AU  that  is  required,  then,  is,  that,  in  consistency, 

(294) 


THE    GOOD   SHEPHEltD,  295 

it  shall  be  translated  by  the  same  word  in  the  fourth 
case ;  for  "  even  so  "  substitute  "  and ;  "  then  strike 
away  the  fuU  stop  after  "mine,"  and  read  the  whole 
sentence  thus:  "I  am  the  good  shepherd,  and  know 
my  sheep,  and  am  known  of  mine  as  the  Father  know- 
eth  me,  and  as  I  know  the  Father ;  and  I  lay  down  my 
life  for  the  sheep." 

At  once  our  Redeemer's  thought  becomes  clear. 
There  is  a  reciprocal  affection  between  the  Shepherd 
and  the  sheep.  There  is  a  reciprocal  affection  between 
the  Father  and  the  Son ;  and  the  one  is  the  parallel  of 
the  other.  The  affection  between  the  Divine  Shepherd 
and  His  flock  can  be  compared,  for  the  closeness  of  ita 
intimacy,  with  nothing  but  the  affection  between  the 
Eternal  Father  and  the  Son  of  His  love.  As  the  Fa- 
ther knows  the  Son,  so  does  the  Shepherd  know  the 
sheep ;  as  the  Son  knows  the  Father,  so  do  the  sheep 
know  their  heavenly  Shepherd. 

I,  The  pastoral  character  claimed  by  Christ. 

II.  The  proofs  which  substantiate  the  claim. 

I.  The  Son  of  Man  claims  to  Himself  the  name  of 
Shepherd. 

Now,  we  shall  not  learn  anything  from  that,  unless 
we  enter  humbly  and  affectionately  into  the  spirit  t)f 
Christ's  teaching.  It  is  the  heart  alone  which  can  give 
us  a  key  to  His  words.  Recollect  how  he  taught.  By 
metaphors,  by  images,  by  illustrations,  boldly  figura- 
tive, in  rich  variety, —  yes,  in  daring  abundance.  He 
calls  Himself  a  gate,  a  king,  a  vine,  a  shepherd,  a  thief 
in  the  night.  In  every  one  of  these  He  appeals  to 
certiiin  feelings  and  associations.  What  He  says  can 
only  be  interpreted  by  such  associations.     They  must 


'296  THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD. 

be  understood  by  a  living  heart ;  a  cold,  clear  intellect 
wiU  make  nothing  of  them.  If  you  take  those  glorious 
expressions,  pregnant  with  almost  boundless  thought, 
and  lay  them  down  as  so  many  articles  of  rigid,  stiff 
theology,  you  turn  life  into  death.  It  is  just  as  if  a 
chemist  were  to  analyze  a  fruit  or  a  flower,  and  then 
imagine  that  he  had  told  you  what  a  fruit  and  a  flower 
are.  He  separates  them  into  their  elements,  names 
them,  and  numbers  them ;  but  those  elements,  weighed, 
measured,  numbered  in  the  exact  proportions  that 
made  up  the  beautiful  living  thing,  are  not  the  living 
thing,  —  no,  nor  anything  like  it.  Your  science  is  very 
profound,  no  doubt ;  but  the  fruit  is  crushed,  and  tho 
grace  of  the  flower  is  gone. 

It  is  in  this  way  often  that  we  deal  with  the  words 
of  Christ,  when  we  anatomize  them  and  analyze  them. 
Theology  is  very  necessary,  chemistry  is  very  neces- 
sary ;  but  chemistry  destroys  life  to  analyze,  murders 
to  dissect;  and  theology  very  often  kills  religion  out 
of  words,  before  it  can  cut  them  up  into  propositions. 

Here  is  a  living  truth,  which  our  cold  reasonings 
have  often  torn  into  dead  fragments,  —  "I  am  the  good 
Shepherd."  In  this  northern  England,  it  is  hard  to  get 
the  living  associations  of  the  East,  with  which  such  an 
expression  is  full. 

The  pastoral  life  and  duty  in  the  East  is  very  unlike 
that  of  the  shepherds  on  our  bleak  hill-sides  and 
downs.  Here  the  connection  between  the  shepherd 
and  the  sheep  is  simply  one  of  pecuniary  interest. 
Ask  an  English  shepherd  about  his  flock,  —  he  can  tell 
you  the  numbers  and  the  value ;  he  knows  the  market 
in  which  each  was  purchased,  and  the  remunerating 
price  at  which  it  can  be  disposed  of.     There   is  be- 


THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD.  297 

fore  him  so  much  stock,  convertible  into  so  much 
money. 

Beneath  the  burning  skies  and  the  clear  starry  nights 
of  Palestine,  there  grows  up  between  the  shepherd  and 
his  flock  an  union  of  attachment  and  tenderness.  It 
is  the  country  where,  at  any  moment,  sheep  are  liable 
to  be  swept  away  by  some  mountain-torrent,  or  carried 
o&  by  hill-robbers,  or  torn  by  wolves.  At  any  moment 
their  protector  may  have  to  save  them  by  personal 
hazard.  The  shepherd-king  tells  us  how,  in  defence 
of  his  father's  flock,  he  slew  a  lion  and  a  bear ;  and 
Jacob  reminds  Laban  how,  when  he  watched  Laban's 
sheep,  in  the  day  the  drought  consumed.  Every  hour 
of  the  shepherd's  life  is  risk.  Sometimes,  for  the  sake 
of  an  armful  of  grass  in  the  parched  summer  days,  he 
must  climb  precipices  almost  perpendicular,  and  stand 
on  a  narrow  ledge  of  rock,  where  the  wild  goat  will 
scarcely  venture.  Pitiless  showers,  driving  snows, 
long  hours  of  thirst,  —  all  this  he  must  endure,  if  the 
flock  is  to  be  kept  at  all. 

And  thus  there  grows  up,  between  the  man  and  the 
dumb  creatures  he  protects,  a  kind  of  friendship.  For 
this  is,  after  all,  the  true  school  in  which  love  is  taught, 
dangers  mutually  shared,  and  hardships  borne  together; 
these  are  the  things  which  make  generous  friendship, 
—  risk  cheerfully  encountered  for  another's  sake.  You 
love  those  for  whom  you  risk,  and  they  love  you ; 
therefore  it  is  that,  not  as  here,  where  the  flock  is 
driven,  the  shepherd  goes  before,  and  the  sheep  follow 
him.  They  follow  in  perfect  trust,  even  though  he 
should  be  leading  them  away  from  a  green  pasture,  by 
a  rocky  road,  to  another  pasture,  which  they  cannot 


298  THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD. 

yet  see.  He  knows  them  all,  —  their  separate  histo* 
ries,  their  ailments,  their  characters. 

Now,  let  it  be  observed,  how  much  in  all  this  con- 
nection there  is  of  heart,  —  of  real,  personal  attach 
ment,  almost  inconceivable  to  us.  It  is  strange  how 
deep  the  sympathy  may  become  between  the  higher  and 
the  lower  being ;  nay,  even  between  the  being  that  has 
life  and  what  is  lifeless.  Alone  almost  in  the  desert, 
the  Arab  and  his  horse  are  one  family.  Alone  in  those 
rast  solitudes,  with  no  human  being  near,  the  shepherd 
d)nd  the  sheep  feel  a  life  in  common.  Differences  dis- 
appear, the  vast  interval  between  the  man  and  the 
brute — the  single  point  of  union  is  felt  strongly. 
One  is  the  love  of  the  protector,  the  other  the  love  of 
the  grateful  life  ;  and  so,  between  lives  so  distant,  there 
is  woven  by  night  and  day,  by  summer  suns  and  winter 
frosts,  a  living  net-work  of  sympathy.  The  greater 
and  the  less  mingle  their  being  together  —  they  feel 
each  other. — "The  shepherd  knows  his  sheep,  and  is 
known  of  them." 

The  men  to  whom  Christ  said  these  words  felt  all 
this  and  more,  the  moment  He  had  said  them,  which  it 
has  taken  me  many  minutes  to  draw  out  in  dull  sen- 
tences ;  for  He  appealed  to  the  familiar  associations 
of  their  daily  life,  and,  calling  Himself  a  Shepherd, 
touched  strings  which  would  vibrate  with  many  a 
tender  and  pure  recollection  of  their  childhood.  And 
unless  we  try,  by  realizing  such  scenes,  to  supply 
what  they  felt  by  association,  the  words  of  Christ 
will  be  only  hard,  dry,  hfeless  words  to  us  ;  for  all 
Christ's  teaching  is  a  Divine  Poetry,  luxuriant  in 
metaphor,  overflowing  with  truth  too  large  for  accu- 
rate sentences  —  truth  which  only  a  heart  alive  can 


THE  GOOD   SHEPHERD.  299 

appreciate.  More  than  half  the  heresies  into  which 
Christian  sects  have  blundered  have  merely  come 
from  mistaking  for  dull  prose  what  prophets  and 
apostles  said  in  those  highest  moments  of  the  soul, 
when  seraphim  kindle  the  sentences  of  the  pen  and 
lip  into  poetry.  ^'  This  is  my  body,"  —  Chill  that  into 
prose,  and  it  becomes  Transubstantiation.  "  I  am  the 
Good  Shepherd."  —  In  the  dry  and  merciless  logic  of 
a  commentary,  trying  laboriously  to  find  out  minute 
points  of  ingenious  resemblance  in  which  Christ  is 
like  a  shepherd,  the  glory  and  the  tenderness  of  this 
sentence  are  dried  up. 

But  try  to  feel,  by  imagining  what  the  lonely  Syrian 
shepherd  must  feel  towards  the  helpless  things  which 
are  the  companions  of  his  daily  life,  for  whose  safety 
he  stands  in  jeopardy  every  hour,  and  whose  value  is 
measurable  to  him  not  by  price,  but  by  his  own 
jeopardy,  and  then  we  have  reached  some  notion  of 
the  love  which  Jesus  meant  to  represent :  that  Eternal 
tenderness  which  bends  over  us,  —  infinitely  lower 
though  we  be  in  nature,  —  and  knows  the  name  of 
each  and  the  trials  of  each,  and  thinks  for  each  with  a 
separate  solicitude,  and  gave  itself  for  each  with  a 
sacrifice  as  special,  and  a  love  as  personal,  as  if  in  the 
whole  world's  wilderness  there  were  none  other  but 
that  one. 

To  the  name  Shepherd  Christ  adds  an  emphatic 
word,  of  much  significance :  "  I  am  the  Good  Shep- 
herd." Good,  not  in  the  sense  of  benevolent,  but  in 
the  sense  of  genuine,  true-born,  of  the  real  kind, — 
just  as  wine  of  nobler  quality  is  good  compared  with 
the  cheaper  sort ;  just  as  a  soldier  is  good  or  noble 
who  is   a  soldier  in   heart,  and  not  a  soldier  by  mera 


300  THE   GOOD    SHEPHERD. 

profession  or  for  pay.  It  is  the  same  word  used  hy  St. 
Paul  when  he  speaks  of  a  good  —  that  is,  a  noble — • 
soldier  of  Christ.  Certain  peculiar  qualifications  make 
the  genuine  soldier ;  certain  peculiar  qualifications 
make  the  genuine  or  good  shepherd. 

Now,  this  expression  distinguishes  the  shepherd 
from  two  sorts  of  men  who  may  also  be  keepers  of  the 
sheep :  shepherds,  but  not  shepherds  of  the  true 
blood.     1.  From  robbers.     2.  From  hirelings. 

1.  Robbers  may  turn  shepherds  ;  they  may  keep  the 
sheep,  but  they  guard  them  only  for  their  own  pur- 
poses—  simply  for  the  flesh  and  fleece;  they  have 
not  a  true  shepherd's  heart,  any  more  than  a  pirate  has 
the  true  sailor's  heart  and  the  true  sailor's  loyalty. 
There  were  many  such  marauders  on  the  hills  of  Gali- 
lee and  Judea  ;  such,  for  example,  as  those  from  whom 
David  and  his  band ,  protected  Nabal's  flocks  on 
Mount  Carmel. 

And  many  such  nominal  shepherds  had  the  people 
of  Israel  had  in  bygone  years ;  rulers  in  whom  the  art 
of  ruling  had  been  but  king-craft ;  teachers  whose 
instructions  to  the  people  had  been  but  priestcraft. 
Government,  statesmanship,  teachership,  —  these  are 
pastoral  callings — sublime,  even  Godlike.  For  only 
consider  it:  wise  rule,  chivalrous  protection,  loving 
guidance,  —  what  diviner  work  than ,  these  has  the 
Master  given  to  the  shepherds  of  the  people  ?  But 
when  the  work  is  done,  even  well  done,  whether  it  be 
by  statesmen  or  by  pastors,  for  the  sake  of  party,  or 
place,  or  honor,  or  personal  consistency,  or  preferment, 
it  is  not  the  spirit  of  the  genuine  shepherd,  but  of 
the  robber.  No  wonder  He  said,  "  All  that  ever  came 
before  Me  were  thieves  and  robbers." 


THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD.  301 

Again,  hirelings  are  shepherds,  but  not  good  shep- 
herds, of  the  right,  pure  kind ;  they  are  tested  by 
danger.  "  He  that  is  an  hireling,  and  not  the  good 
shepherd,  whose  own  the  sheep  are  not,  seeth  the  wolf 
coming,  and  leaveth  the  sheep  and  fleeth ;  and  the 
wolf  catcheth  them,  and  scattereth  the  sheep." 

Now,  a  man  is  a  hireling  when  he  does  his  duty  for 
pay.  He  may  do  it  in  his  way  faithfully.  The  paid 
shepherd  would  not  desert  the  sheep  for  a  shower  or 
a  cold  night.  But  the  lion  and  the  bear  —  he  is  not 
paid  to  risk  his  life  against  them,  and  the  sheep  are 
not  his,  so  he  leaves  them  to  their  fate.  So,  in  the 
same  way,  a  man  may  be  a  hired  priest,  as  Demetrius 
was  at  Ephesus :  "  By  this  craft  we  get  our  living." 
Or,  a  paid  demagogue,  a  great  champion  of  rights, 
and  an  investigator  of  abuses  —  paid  by  applause ; 
and  while  popularity  lasts,  he  will  be  a  reformer,  — 
deserting  the  people  when  danger  comes.  There  is 
no  vital  union  between  the  champion  and  defenceless, 
the  teacher  and  the  taught.  The  cause  of  the  sheep 
is  not  his  cause. 

Exactly  the  reverse  of  this  Christ  asserts,  in  calling 
Himself  the  Good  Shepherd.  He  is  a  good,  genuine, 
or  true-born  sailor  who  feels  that  the  ship  is  as  it  were 
his  own ;  whose  point  of  chivalrous  honor  is  to  save 
his  ship  rather  than  himself —  not  to  survive  her.  He 
is  a  good,  genuine,  or  true-born  shepherd  who  has  the 
spirit  of  his  calling  —  is  an  enthusiast  in  it  —  has  the 
true  shepherd's  heart,  and  makes  the  cause  of  the 
sheep  his  cause. 

Brethren,  the  cause  of  man  was  the  cause  of  Christ. 
He  did  no  hireling's  work.  The  only  pay  He  got  was 
hatred,  a  crown  of  thorns,  and  the  cross.  He  might 
26 


302  THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD. 

have  escaped  it  all.  He  might  have  been  the  Leader 
of  the  people  and  their  King.  He  might  have  con- 
verted the  idolatry  of  an  hour  into  the  hosannas  of  a 
lifetime.  If  He  would  but  have  conciliated  the  Phari- 
sees, instead  of  bidding  them  defiance,  and  exasper- 
ating their  bigotry  against  Him ;  if  He  would  but  have 
explained,  and,  like  some  demagogue  called  to  account, 
trimmed  away  His  sublime  sharp-edged  truths  about 
oppression  and  injustice  until  they  became  harmless, 
because  meaningless  ;  if  He  would  but  have  left  unsaid 
those  rough  things  about  the  consecrated  Temple  and 
the  Sabbath-days ;  if  He  would  but  have  left  undis- 
puted the  hereditary  title  of  Israel  to  God's  favor,  and 
not  stung  the  national  vanity  by  telling  them  that  trust 
in  God  justifies  the  Gentile  as  entirely  as  the  Jcav  ;  if 
He  would  but  have  taught  less  prominently  that  hate- 
ful doctrine  of  the  salvability  of  the  heathen  Gentiles 
and  the  heretic  Samaritans,  and  the  universal  Father- 
hood of  God ;  if  He  would  but  have  stated  with  less 
angularity  of  edge  His  central  truth,  that  not  by  mere 
compliance  with  law,  but  by  a  spirit  transcending  law, 
even  the  spirit  of  the  cross  and  self-sacrifice,  can  the 
soul  of  man  be  atoned  to  God :  —  that  would  have 
saved  Him.  But  that  Avould  have  been  the  desertion 
of  the  cause  —  God's  cause  and  man's  —  the  cause 
of  the  ignorant  defenceless  sheep,  whose  very  salva- 
tion depended  on  the  keeping  of  that  Gospel  intact ; 
therefore  the  Shepherd  gave  His  life  a  Witness  to  the 
Truth,  and  a  sacrifice  to  God.  It  was  a  profound 
truth  that  the  populace  gave  utterance  to  when  they 
taunted  Him  on  the  cross :  "  He  saved  others.  Him- 
self He  cannot  save."  No,  of  course  not;  He  that 
will  save  others  cannot  save  Himself. 


THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD.  303 

Of  that  pastoral  character  He  gives  here  three 
proofs.  I  know  Mj  sheep  —  am  known  of  Mine  —  lay- 
down  My  life  for  the  sheep. 

1.  I  know  My  sheep  as  the  Father  knoweth  Me.  In 
other  words,  as  unerringly  as  His  Father  read  His 
heart,  so  unerringly  did  He  read  the  heart  of  man  and 
recognize  His  own. 

Ask  we  how  ?  An  easy  reply,  and  a  common  one, 
would  be  —  He  recognized  them  by  the  Godhead  in 
Him ;  His  mind  was  divine,  therefore  omniscient ;  Ho 
knew  all  things,  therefore  He  knew  what  was  in  man ; 
and  therefore  He  knew  His  own. 

But  we  must  not  slur  over  His  precious  words  in 
this  way.  That  Divinity  of  His  is  made  the  pass-key 
by  which  we  open  all  mysteries  with  fatal  facility,  and 
save  ourselves  from  thinking  of  them.  We  get  a 
dogma  and  cover  truth  with  it ;  we  satisfy  ourselves 
with  saying  Christ  was  God,  and  lose  the  precious 
humanities  of  His  heart  and  life. 

There  is  here  a  deep  truth  of  human  nature ;  for  He 
does  not  limit  that  recognizing  power  to  Himself,  — 
He  says  that  the  sheep  know  Him  as  truly  as  He  the 
sheep.  He  knew  men  on  the  same  principle  on  which 
we  know  men,  —  the  same  on  which  we  know  Him. 
The  only  difference  is  in  degree ;  He  knows  with  infi- 
nitely more  unerringness  than  we,  but  the  knowledge 
is  the  same  in  kind. 

Let  us  think  of  this.  There  is  a  certain  mysterious 
tact  of  sympathy  and  antipathy  by  which  we  discover 
the  like  and  unlike  of  ourselves  in  others'  character. 
You  cannot  find  out  a  man's  opinions  unless  he 
chooses  to  express  them ;   but  his  feelings  and    his 


304  THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD. 

character  you  may.  He  cannot  hide  them ;  you  feei 
them  in  his  look  and  mien,  and  tones  and  motion. 

There  is,  for  instance,  a  certain  something  in  sin- 
cerity and  reahty  which  cannot  be  mistaken,  —  a 
certain  something  in  real  grief  which  the  most  artistic 
counterfeit  cannot  imitate.  It  is  distinguished  by 
nature,  not  education.  There  is  a  something  in  an 
impure  heart  which  purity  detects  afar  oflF.  Marvel- 
lous it  is  how  innocence  perceives  the  approach  of 
evil  which  it  cannot  know  by  experience,  just  as  the 
dove  which  has  never  seen  a  falcon  trembles  by 
instinct  at  its  approach ;  just  as  a  blind  man  detects 
by  finer  sensitiveness  the  passing  of  the  cloud  which 
he  cannot  see  overshadowing  the  sun.  It  is  wondrous 
how,  the  truer  we  become,  the  more  unerringly  we 
know  the  ring  of  truth, — discern  whether  a  man  be  true 
or  not,  and  can  fasten  at  once  upon  the  rising  lie  in 
word,  and  look,  and  dissembling  act.  Wondrous  how 
the  charity  of  Christ  in  the  heart  finely  perceives  the 
slightest  aberration  from  charity  in  others,  in  ungentle 
thought  or  slanderous  tone. 

Therefore  Christ  knew  His  sheep,  by  that  mystic 
power  always  finest  in  the  best  natures,  most  devel- 
oped in  the  highest,  by  which  Like  detects  what  is 
like  and  what  unlike  itself.  He  was  Perfect  Love  — 
Perfect  Truth  —  Perfect  Purity;  therefore  He  knew 
what  was  in  man,  and  felt,  as  by  another  sense,  afar 
ofi"  the  shadows  of  unlovingness,  and  falseness,  and 
impurity. 

No  one  can  have  read  the  Gospels  without  remark- 
ing that  they  ascribe  to  Him  unerring  skill  in  reading 
man.  People,  we  read,  began  to  show  enthusiasm  for 
Him.     But  Jesus  did   not    trust   Himself  unto    them, 


THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD.  305 

"  for  He  knew  what  was  in  man."  He  knew  that  the 
flatterers  of  to-day  would  be  the  accusers  of  to-mor- 
row. Nathanael  stood  before  Him.  He  had  scarcely 
spoken  a  word ;  but  at  once,  unhesitatingly,  to  Nathan- 
ael's  own  astonishment,  — "  Behold  an  Israelite  in- 
deed, in  whom  there  is  no  guile  1 "  There  came  to 
Him  a  young  man  with  vast  possessions  :  a  single 
sentence,  an  exaggerated  epithet,  an  excited  manner, 
revealed  his  character.  Enthusiastic  and  amiable, 
Jesus  loved  him ;  capable  of  obedience,  on  life's  sun- 
shine and  prosperity, —  ay,  and  capable  of  aspiration 
after  something  more  than  mere  obedience,  but  not 
of  sacrifice.  Jesus  tested  him  to  the  quick,  and  the 
young  man  failed.  He  did  not  try  to  call  him  back, 
for  He  knew  what  was  in  him  and  what  was  not.  He 
read  through  Zaccheus  when  he  climbed  into  the  syc- 
amore-tree, despised  by  the  people  as  a  publican,  really 
a  son  of  Abraham ;  through  Judas,  with  his  benevo- 
lent saying  about  the  selling  of  the  alabaster-box  for 
the  poor,  and  his  false  kiss  ;  through  the  curses  of  the 
thief  upon  the  cross,  a  faith  that  could  be  saved ; 
through  the  zeal  of  the  man  who  in  a  fit  of  enthu- 
siasm ofi'ered  to  go  with  Him  whithersoever  He 
would.  He  read  through  the  Pharisees,  and  His 
whole  being  shuddered  with  the  recoil  of  utter  and 
irreconcilable  aversion. 

It  was  as  if  His  bosom  was  some  mysterious  mir- 
ror, on  which  all  that  came  near  Him  left  a  sullied 
or  unsullied  surface,  detecting  themselves  by  every 
breath. 

Now,  distinguish  that  Divine  power  from  that  cun- 
ning sagacity  which  men  call  knowingness  in  the  mat- 
ter  of  character.  The  worldly  wise  have  maxims  and 
26* 


306  THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD. 

rules ;  but  the  finer  shades  and  delicacies  of  truth  of 
character  escape  them.  They  would  prudently  avoid 
Zaccheus  —  a  publican  ;  they 

There  is  a  very  solemn  aspect  in  which  this  power 
of  Jesus  to  know  man  presents  itself.  It  is  this  which 
qualifies  Him  for  judgment,  —  this  perfection  of  hu- 
man sympathy.  Perfect  sympathy  with  every  n^ost 
delicate  line  of  good  implies  exquisite  antipathy  to 
every  shadow  of  a  shade  'of  evil.  God  hath  given 
Him  authority  to  execute  judgment  also,  because  He 
is  the  Son  of  Man.  On  sympathy  the  final  award  of 
Heaven  and  Hell  are  built :  Attraction  and  Repulsion, 
the  law  of  the  magnet.  To  each  pole  all  that  has  affin- 
ity with  itself —  to  Christ  all  that  is  Christlike,  from 
Christ  all  that  is  not  Christlike,  —  forever  and  forever. 
Eternal  judgment  is  nothing  more  than  the  carrying 
out  of  these  words,  "  I  know  my  sheep ;  "  —  for  the 
obverse  of  them  is,  "  I  never  knew  you  ;  depart  from 
me,  all  ye  that  work  iniquity." 

The  second  proof  which  Christ  alleges  of  the  genu- 
ineness of  His  pastorate  is,  that  His  sheep  know  Him. 

How  shall  we  recognize  Truth  Divine?  What  is 
the  test  by  which  we  shall  know  whether  it  comes 
from  God  or  not  ?  They  tell  us  we  know  Christ  to 
be  from  God  because  He  wrought  miracles ;  we  know 
a  doctrine  to  be  from  God  because  we  find  it  written, 
or  because  it  is  sustained  by  an  universal  consent  of 
fathers. 

That  is  —  for  observe  what  this  argument  implies  — 
there  is  something  more  evident  than  truth ;  Truth 
cannot  prove  itself;  we  want  something  else  to  prove 
it.  Our  souls  judge  of  truth,  —  our  senses  judge  of 
miracles;  and  the  evidence  ol  our  senses  —  the  lowest 


TITR   GOOD    SHEPHERD.  307 

part  of  our  nature  —  is  more  certain  than  the  evi- 
dence of  our  souls,  by  which  we  must  partake  of  God. 

Now,  to  saj  so,  is  to  say  that  you  cannot  be  sure 
that  it  is  mid-day,  or  morning  sunshine,  unless  you 
look  at  the  sun-dial ;  you  cannot  be  sure  that  the  sun 
is  shining  in  the  heavens  unless  you  see  his  shadow 
on  the  dial-plate.  The  dial  is  valuable  to  a  man  who 
never  reads  the  heavens,  —  the  shadow  is  good  for 
him  who  has  not  watched  the  sun ;  but,  for  a  man  who 
hves  in  perpetual  contemplation  of  the  sun  in  heaven, 
the  sunshine  needs  no  evidence,  and  every  hour  ia 
known. 

Now,  Christ  says,  "  My  sheep  know  J/e."  Wisdom 
is  justified  by  her  children.  Not  by  some  length- 
ened investigation,  whether  the  shepherd's  dress  be 
the  identical  dress,  and  the  staff  and  the  crosier  gen- 
uine, do  the  sheep  recognize  the  shepherd.  They 
know  him,  they  hear  his  voice,  they  know  him  as  a 
man  knows  his  friend. 

They  know  him,  in  short,  instinctivdy.  Just  so  does 
the  soul  recognize  what  is  of  God  and  true.  Truth  is 
like  light;  visible  in  itself,  not  distinguished  by  the 
shadows  that  it  casts.  There  is  a  something  in  our 
souls  of  God,  which  corresponds  with  what  is  of  God 
outside  us,  and  recognizes  it  by  direct  intuition  ;  some- 
thing in  the  true  soul  which  corresponds  with  truth, 
and  knows  it  to  be  truth.  Christ  came  with  truth,  and 
the  true  recognize  it  as  true ;  the  sheep  know  the 
Shepherd,  wanting  no  further  evidence.  Take  a  tew 
examples:  "  God  is  Love."  —  "What  shall  a  man  give 
in  exchange  for  his  soul  ?  "  —  "  He  that  saveth  his  life 
shall  lose  it;  and  he  that  loseth  his  hfe  for  My  sake 
shall  find  it."  —  "  All  things  are  possible  to  him  that 


308  THE  GOOD   SHEPHERD. 

believeth." — "  The  Sabbath  was  made  for  man,  not  man 
for  the  Sabbath."—"  God  is  a  Spirit." 

Now,  the  wise  men  of  intellect  and  logical  acumen 
wanted  proof  of  these  truths.  Give  us,  said  they, 
your  credentials.  "  By  what  authority  doest  thou 
these  things  ?  "  They  wanted  a  sign  from  heaven  to 
prove  that  the  truth  was  true,  and  the  life  He  led 
Godlike,  and  not  devil-like.  How  can  we  be  sure  that 
it  is  not  from  Beelzebub,  the  prince  of  the  devils,  that 
these  deeds  and  sayings  come?  We  must  be  quite 
sure  that  we  are  not  taking  a  message  from  hell  as 
one  from  heaven.  Give  us  demonstration, —  chains  of 
evidence,  chapter  and  verse,  authority. 

But  simple  men  had  decided  the  matter  already. 
They  knew  very  little  of  antiquity,  church  authority, 
and  shadows  of  coming  events,  which  prophecy  casts 
before  ;  but  their  eyes  saw  the  light,  and  their  hearts 
felt  the  present  God.  Wise  Pharisees  and  learned 
doctors  said,  to  account  for  a  wondrous  miracle,  "  Give 
God  the  glory." 

But  the  poor,  unlettered  man,  whose  blinded  eye 
had  for  the  first  time  looked  on  a  face  of  love,  rephed, 
"Whether  this  man  be  a  sinner  or  not,  I  know  not; 
one  thing  I  know,  that  whereas  I  was  bhnd,  now 
I  see." 

The  well-read  Jews  could  not  settle  the  literary 
question,  whether  the  marks  of  his  appearance  coin- 
cided with  the  prophecies.  But  the  Samaritans  fdt 
the  life  of  God :  "  Now  we  believe,  not  because  of  thy 
word,  but  because  we  have  heard  him  ourselves,  and 
"know  that  this  is  indeed  the  Christ." 

The  Shepherd  had  come,  and  the  sheep  knew  His 
voice. 


THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD.  309 

Brethren,  in  all  matters  of  eternal  truth,  the  soul  is 
before  the  intellect,  the  things  of  God  are  spiritually 
discerned.  You  know  truth  by  being  true ;  you  rec- 
ognize Grod  by  being  like  Him.  The  scribe  comes 
and  says,  I  will  prove  to  you  that  this  is  sound  doc- 
trine, by  chapter  and  verse,  by  what  the  old  and  best 
writers  say,  by  evidence  such  as  convinces  the  intel- 
lect of  an  intelligent  lawyer  or  juryman.  Think  you 
the  conviction  of  faith  is  got  in  that  way  ? 

Christ  did  not  teach  like  the  scribes.  He  spoke  His 
truth.  He  said,  "  If  any  man  believe  not,  I  judge  him 
not ;  the  word  which  I  have  spoken,  the  same  shall 
judge  him  in  the  last  day."  It  was  true,  and  the  guilt 
of  disbelieving  it  was  not  an  error  of  the  intellect,  but 
a  sin  of  the  heart. 

Let  us  stand  upright ;  let  us  be  sure  that  the  test  oi 
truth  is  the  soul  within  us.  Not  at  second-hand  can 
we  have  assurance  of  what  is  Divine,  and  what  is 
not ;  only  at  first-hand.  The  sheep  of  Christ  hear  His 
voice. 

The  third  proof  given  by  Christ  was  pastoral  fidel- 
ity :  "  I  lay  down  my  life  for  the  sheep."  Now,  here 
is  the  doctrine  of  vicarious  sacrifice ;  sacrifice  of  one 
instead  of  another  ;  life  saved  by  the  sacrifice  of  life. 

Most  of  us  know  the  meagre  explanation  of  these 
words  which  satisfies  the  Unitarians ;  they  say  that 
Christ  merely  died  as  a  martyr,  in  attestation  of  the 
truths  He  taught. 

But  you  will  observe  the  strength  of  the  expression 
which  we  cannot  explain  away,  "  I  lay  down  my  life 
ybr"  —  that  is,  instead  of — "the  sheep."  If  the  Shep- 
herd had  not  sacrificed  Himself,  the  sheep  must  have 
been  the  sacrifice. 


310  THE   GOOD   SHEPHERD. 

Observe,  however,  the  suffering  of  Christ  was  not 
the  same  suffering  as  that  from  which  He  saved  us.  The 
suffering  of  Christ  was  death.  But  the  suffering  from 
which  He  redeemed  us  bj  death  was  more  terrible  than 
death.  The  pit  into  which  He  descended  was  the 
grave.  But  the  pit  in  which  we  should  have  been  lost 
forever  was  the  pit  of  selfishness  and  despair. 

Therefore  St.  Paul  affirms,  "  If  Christ  be  not  risen,  je 
are  yet  in  your  siris."  If  Christ's  resurrection  be  a 
dream,  and  He  be  not  risen  from  the  grave  of  death,  you 
are  yet  in  the  grave  of  guilt.  He  bore  suffering  to  free 
us  from  what  is  worse  than  suffering  —  sin  ;  temporal 
death,  to  save  us  from  death  everlasting  ;  His  life  given 
as  an  offering  for  sin  to  save  the  soul's  eternal  life. 

Now,  in  the  text  this  sacrificing  love  of  Christ  is  par- 
alleled by  the  love  of  the  Father  to  the  Son.  As  He 
loved  the  sheep,  so  the  Father  had  loved  Him.  There- 
fore, the  sacrifice  of  Christ  is  but  a  mirror  of  the  love 
of  God.  The  love  of  the  Father  to  the  Son  is  self- 
sacrificing  Love. 

You  know  that  shallow  men  make  themselves  merry 
with  this  doctrine.  The  sacrifice  of  God,  they  say,  is  a 
figment,  and  an  impossibility.  Nevertheless,  this  paral- 
lel tells  us  that  it  is  one  of  the  deepest  truths  of  all  the 
universe.  It  is  the  profound  truth  which  the  ancient 
fathers  endeavored  to  express  in  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity.  For  what  is  the  love  of  the  Father  to  the  Son 
—  Himself  yet  not  Himself — but  the  grand  truth  of 
Eternal  Love  losing  itself  and  finding  itself  again  in 
the  being  of  another?  What  is  it  but  the  sublime 
expression  of  the  unselfishness  of  God? 

It  is  a  profound,  glorious  truth  ;  I  wish  I  knew  how 
to  put  it  in  intelligible  words.     But,  if  these  words  of 


THE   GOOD   SHEPHEKD.  311 

Christ  do  not  make  it  intelligible  to  the  heart,  how  can 
any  words  of  mine  ?  The  life  of  blessedness,  the  life 
of  love,  the  life  of  sacrifice,  the  life  of  God,  are  iden- 
tical. All  love  is  sacrifice — the  giving  of  life  and 
self  for  others.  God's  life  is  sacrifice  ;  for  the  Father 
loves  the  Son  as  the  Son  loves  the  sheep  for  whom  He 
gave  His  hfe. 

Whoever  will  humbly  ponder  upon  this  will,  I  think, 
understand  the  Atonement  better  than  all  theology  can 
teach  him.  0,  my  brethren,  leave  men  to  quarrel  as 
they  will  about  the  theology  of  the  Atonement ;  here 
in  these  words  is  the  religion  of  it,  —  the  blessed,  all- 
satisfying  religion  for  our  hearts.  The  self-sacrifice 
of  Christ  was  the  satisfaction  to  the  Father. 

How  could  the  Father  be  satisfied  with  the  death  of 
Christ,  unless  He  saw  in  the  sacrifice  mirrored  His  own 
love  ? — for  God  can  be  satisfied  only  with  that  which 
is  perfect  as  Himself.  Agony  does  not  satisfy  God, — 
agony  only  satisfied  Moloch.  Nothing  satisfies  God 
but  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  Love. 

The  pain  of  Christ  gave  God  no  pleasure :  c/ily 
the  love  that  was  tested  by  pain,  —  the  love  of  h<» 
obedient.     He  was  obedient  unto  death. 


XXI. 

'Preached  Easter-day,  March  27,  1853.] 

THE    DOUBT    OF    THOMAS. 

John  xx.  29.  —  "  Jesus  saith  unto  him,  Thomas,  because  thou  hast  seen 
me,  thou  hast  believed  ;  blessed  are  they  that  have  not  seen,  and  yet 
have  believed." 

The  day  on  which  these  words  were  spoken  was  the 
first  day  of  the  week.  On  that  day  Thomas  received 
demonstration  that  his  Lord  was  risen  from  the  dead. 
On  that  same  day,  a  week  before,  Thomas  had  declared 
that  no  testimony  of  others,  no  eyesight  of  his  own, 
nothing  short  of  touching  with  his  hands  the  crucifix- 
ion marks  in  his  Master's  body,  should  induce  him  to 
believe  a  fact  so  unnatural  as  the  resurrection  of  a 
human  being  from  the  grave.  Those  seven  days 
between  must,  therefore,  have  been  spent  in  a  state  of 
miserable  uncertainty.  How  miserable,  and  how  rest- 
less, none  can  understand  but  those  who  have  felt  the 
wretchedness  of  earnest  doubt. 

Doubt,  moreover,  observe,  respecting  all  that  is 
dear  to  a  Christian's  hopes.  For  if  Christ  were  not 
risen,  Christianity  was  false,  and  every  high  aspiration 
which  it  promised  to  gratify  was  thrown  back  on  the 
disappointed  heart. 

Let  us   try  to  understand  the   doubt  of  Thomas. 

C312) 


THE   DOUBT   OF   THOMAS.  313 

There  are  some  men  whose  affections  are  stronger  than 
their  understandings  ;  they  feel  more  than  they  think. 
They  are  simple,  trustful,  able  to  repose  implicitly  on 
what  is  told  them, —  liable  sometimes  to  verge  upon 
credulity  and  superstition,  but,  take  them  all  in  all,  per- 
haps the  happiest  class  of  minds  ;  for  it  is  happy  to  be 
without  misgivings  about  the  love  of  God  and  our  own 
eternal  rest  in  Him.  "  Blessed,"  said  Christ  to  Thomas, 
"  are  they  that  have  believed." 

There  is  another  class  of  men  whose  reflective  pow- 
ers are  stronger  than  their  susceptible  ;  they  think  out 
truth,  —  they  do  not  feel  it  out.  Often  highly  gifted 
and  powerful  minds,  they  cannot  rest  till  they  have 
made  all  their  ground  certain  ;  they  do  not  feel  safe  as 
long  as  there  is  one  possibility  of  delusion  left ;  they 
prove  all  things.  Such  a  man  was  Thomas.  He  has 
well  been  called  the  rationalist  among  the  apostles. 
Happy  such  men  cannot  be.  An  anxious  and  inquir- 
ing mind  dooms  its  possessor  to  unrest.  But  men  of 
generous  spirit,  manly  and  affectionate,  they  may  be  ; 
Thomas  was.  When  Christ  was  bent  on  going  to 
Jerusalem,  to  certain  death,  Thomas  said,  "  Let  us  go 
up,  too,  that  we  may  die  with  Him."  And  men  of 
mighty  faith  they  m^y  become,  if  they  are  true  to 
themselves  and  their  convictions.  Thomas  did.  When 
such  mi;n  do  believe,  it  is  a  belief  with  all  the  heart 
and  soul  for  life.  When  a  subject  has  been  once  thor- 
oughly and  suspiciously  investigated,  and  settled  once 
for  all,  the  adherence  of  the  whole  reasoning  man,  if 
given  in  at  all,  is  given  frankly  and  heartily,  as  Thomas 
gave  it,  —  "  My  Lord,  and  my  God." 

Now,  this  question  of  a  resurrection,  which  made 
Thomas  restless,  is  the  most  anxious  that  can  agitato 
27 


314  THE   DOUBT   OF   THOMAS. 

the  mind  of  man.  So  awful  in  its  importance,  and  out 
of  Chri«t  so  almost  desperately  dark  in  its  uncertainty, 
who  shall  blame  an  earnest  man  severely  if  he  crave 
the  most  indisputable  proofs  ? 

Very  clearly  Christ  did  not.  Thomas  asked  of 
Christ  a  sign ;  he  must  put  his  own  hands  into  the 
prints.  His  Master  gave  him  that  sign  or  proof.  He 
said,  "  Reach  hither  thy  hand."  He  gave  it,  it  is  true, 
with  a  gentle  and  delicate  reproof,  —  but  He  did  give 
it.  Now,  from  that  condescension,  we  are  reminded 
of  the  darkness  that  hangs  round  the  question  of  a 
resurrection,  and  how  excusable  it  is  for  a  man  to 
question  earnestly  until  he  has  got  proof  to  stand  on. 
For,  if  it  were  not  excusable  to  crave  a  proof,  our 
Master  never  would  have  granted  one.  Resurrection 
is  not  one  of  those  questions  on  which  you  can  afford 
to  wait ;  it  is  the  question  of  life  and  death.  There 
are  times  when  it  does  not  weigh  heavily.  When  we 
have  some  keen  pursuit  before  us,  when  we  are  young 
enough  to  be  satisfied  to  enjoy  ourselves,  the  prob- 
lem does  not  press  itself.  We  are  too  laden  with  the 
pressure  of  the  present,  to  care  to  ask  what  is  coming. 
But  at  last  a  time  comes  when  we  feel  it  will  be  all 
over  soon,  —  that  much  of  our  time  is  gone,  and  the 
rest  swiftly  going.  And  let  a  man  be  as  frivolous  as 
he  will  at  heart,  it  is  a  question  too  solemn  to  be  put 
aside, — Whether  he  is  going  down  into  extinction  and 
the  blank  of  everlasting  silence,  or  not.  Whether,  in 
those  far  ages,  when  the  very  oak  which  is  to  form  his 
coffin  shall  have  become  fibres  of  black  mould,  and  the 
church-yard  in  which  he  is  to  lie  shall  have  become, 
perhaps,  unconsecrated  ground,  and  the  spades  of  a 
generation  yet  unborn  shall  have  exposed  his  bones, 


THE   DOUBT    OF   THOMAS.  315 

those  bones  will  be  the  last  relic  in  the  world  to  bear 
record  that  he  once  trod  this  green  earth,  and  that  life 
was  once  dear  to  him,  Thomas,  or  James,  or  Paul.  Oi 
whether  that  thrilling,  loving,  thinking  something,  that 
he  calls  himself,  ha;s  indeed  within  it  an  indestructible 
existence,  which  shall  still  be  conscious,  when  eveiy- 
thing  else  shall  have  rushed  into  endless  wreck.  0^ 
in  the  awful  earnestness  of  a  question  such  as  that,  a 
speculation  and  a  peradventure  will  not  do ;  we  must 
have  proof  The  honest  doubt  of  Thomas  craves  a 
sign  as  much  as  the  cold  doubt  of  the  Sadducee.  And 
a  sign  shall  be  mercifully  given  to  the  doubt  of  love 
which  is  refused  to  the  doubt  of  indifference. 
This  passage  presents  two  lines  of  thought. 

I.  The  naturalness  of  the  doubts  of  Thomas,  which 
partly  excuses  them. 

II.  The  evidences  of  the  Christian  Resurrection. 

I.  The  naturalness  of  the  doubts  of  Thomas. 

The  first  assertion  that  we  make  to  explain  those 
doubts  is,  that  Nature  is  silent  respecting  a  future  life. 
All  that  reason,  all  that  Nature,  all  that  religion,  apart 
from  Christ,  have  to  show  us,  is  something  worse  than 
darkness.  It  is  the  twilight  of  excruciating  uncer- 
tainty. There  is  enough  in  the  riddle  of  this  world  to 
show  us  that  there  may  be  a  life  to  come ;  there  is 
nothing  to  make  it  cerj:ain  that  there  will  be  one.  We 
crave, as  Thomas  did,  a  sign  either  in  the  height  above 
or  in  the  depth  beneath ;  and  the  answer  seems  to  fall 
back  like  ice  upon  our  hearts.  There  shall  no  sign  be 
given  you. 

It  is  the  uncertainty  of  twilight.  You  strain  at 
something  in  the  twilight,  and  just  when  you  are  be- 


316  THE   DOUBT   OF   THOMAS. 

ginning  to  make  out  its  form  and  color,  the  light  fails 
you,  and  your  eyelid  sinks  down,  wet  and  wearied 
with  the  exertion.  Just  so  it  is  when  we  strain  into 
Nature's  mysteries,  to  discern  the  secret  of  the  Great 
Hereafter.  Exactly  at  the  moment  when  we  think  we 
begin  to  distinguish  something,  the  light  goes  out,  and 
we  are  left  groping  in  darkness,  —  the  darkness  of  the 
grave. 

Let  us  forget  for  a  moment  that  we  ever  heard  of 
Christ :  —  what  is  there  in  life  or  nature  to  strengthen 
the  guess  that  there  is  a  life  to  come?  There  are 
hints  —  there  are  probabilities  —  there  is  nothing 
more.     Let  us  examine  some  of  those  probabilities. 

First,  there  is  an  irrepressible  longing  in  our  hearts. 
We  wish  for  immortality.  The  thought  of  annihila- 
tion is  horrible ;  even  to  conceive  it  is  almost  impossi- 
ble. The  wish  is  a  kind  of  argument ;  it  is  not  likely 
that  God  would  have  given  all  men  such  a  feeling,  if 
He  had  not  meant  to  gratify  it.  Every  natural  long- 
ing has  its  natural  satisfaction.  If  we  thirst,  God  has 
created  liquids  to  gratify  thirst.  If  we  are  susceptible 
of  attachment,  there  are  beings  to  gratify  that  love. 
If  we  thirst  for  life  and  love  eternal,  it  is  likely  that 
there  are  an  eternal  life  and  an  eternal  love  to  satisfy 
that  craving. 

Likely,  I  say ;  more  we  cannot  say.  A  likelihood 
of  an  immortality  of  which  our  passionate  yearnings 
are  a  presumption  — nothing  higher  than  a  likelihood. 
And  in  weary  moments,  when  the  desire  of  life  is  not 
strong,  and  in  unloving  moments,  there  is  not  even  a 
likelihood. 

Secondly,  corroborating  this  feeling  we  have  the 
traditions  of  universal  belief.     There  is  not  a  nation, 


THE   DOUBT   OF  THOMAS.  317 

perhaps,  which  does  not  in  some  form  or  other  hold 
that  there  is  a  country  beyond  the  grave  where  the 
weary  are  at  rest.  Now,  that  which  all  men  every- 
where and  in  every  age  have  held,  it  is  impossible  to 
treat  contemptuously.  How  came  it  to  be  held  by 
all,  if  only  a  delusion  ?  Here  is  another  probability  in 
the  universality  of  belief.  And  yet,  when  you  come  to 
estimate  this,  it  is  too  slender  for  a  proof;  —  it  is  only 
a  presumption.  The  universal  voice  of  mankind  is  not 
infallible.  It  was  the  universal  belief  once,  on  the 
evidence  of  the  senses,  that  the  earth  was  stationary ; 
—  the  universal  voice  was  wrong.  The  universal 
voice  might  be  wrong  in  the  matter  of  a  resurrection. 
It  might  be  only  a  beautiful  and  fond  dream,  indulged 
till  hope  made  itself  seem  to  be  a  reality.  You  cannot 
build  upon  it. 

Once  again,  —  In  this  strange  world  of  perpetual 
change,  we  are  met  by  many  resemblances  to  a  resur- 
rection. Without  much  exaggeration  we  call  them 
resurrections.  There  is  the  resurrection  of  the  moth 
from  the  grave  of  the  chrysalis.  For  many  ages  the 
sculptured  butterfly  was  the  type  and  emblem  of  im- 
mortality. Because  it  passes  into  a  state  of  torpor  or 
deadness,  and  because  from  that  it  emerges  by  a  kind 
of  resurrection,  —  the  same,  yet  not  the  same,  —  in  all 
the  radiance  of  a  fresh  and  beautiful  youth,  never  again 
to  be  supported  by  the  coarse  substance  of  earth,  but 
destined  henceforth  to  nourish  its  etherealized  exist- 
ence on  the  nectar  of  the  flowers, —  the  ancients  saw 
in  that  transformation  a  something  added  to  their 
hopes  of  immortality.  It  was  their  beautiful  sjonbol 
of  the  soul's  indestructibility. 

Again,  there  is  a  kind  of  resurrection  when  the 
27* 


318  THE  DOUBT   OF   THOMAS. 

spring  brings  vigor  and  motion  back  to  the  frozen 
pulse  of  the  winter  world.  Let  any  one  go  into  the 
fields  at  this  spring  season  of  the  year.  Let  him  mark 
the  busy  preparations  for  life  which  are  going  on. 
Life  is  at  work  in  every  emerald  bud,  in  the  bursting 
bark  of  every  polished  bough,  in  the  greening  tints  of 
every  brown  hill-side.  A  month  ago  everything  was 
as  still  and  cold  as  the  dead  silence  which  chills  the 
heart  in  the  highest  regions  of  the  glacier  solitudes. 
Life  is  coming  back  to  a  dead  world.  It  is  a  resurrec- 
tion, surely !  The  return  of  freshness  to  the  frozen 
world  is  not  less  marvellous  than  the  return  of  sensi- 
bility to  a  heart  which  has  ceased  to  beat.  If  one  has 
taken  place,  the  other  is  not  impossible. 

And  yet  all  this,  valuable  as  it  is  in  the  way  of  sug- 
gestiveness,  is  worth  nothing  in  the  way  of  proof  It 
is  worth  everything  to  the  heart,  for  it  strengthens  the 
dim  guesses  and  vague  intimations  which  the  heart  had 
formed  already.  It  is  worth  nothing  to  the  intellect ; 
for  the  moment  we  come  to  argue  the  matter,  we  find 
how  little  there  is  to  rest  upon  in  these  analogies. 
They  are  no  real  resurrections,  after  all ;  they  only 
look  like  resurrections.  The  chrysalis  only  seemed 
dead ;  the  tree  in  winter  only  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
vitality.  Show  us  a  butterfly,  which  has  been  dried 
and  crushed,  fluttering  its  brilliant  wings  next  year 
again.  Show  us  a  tree,  plucked  up  by  the  roots  and 
seasoned  by  exposure,  the  vital  force  really  killed  out, 
putting  forth  its  leaves  again, —  then  we  should  have  a 
real  parallel  to  a  resurrection.  But  nature  does  not 
show  us  that.  So  that  all  we  have  goi  m  the  butterfly 
and  the  spring  are  illustrations  exquisitely  in  point 


THE    DOUBT    OF   THOMAS.  B10 

after  immortality  is  proved,  but  in  themselves  no 
proofs  at  all. 

Further  still.  Look  at  it  in  another  point  of  view, 
and  it  is  a  dark  prospect.  Human  history  behind,  and 
human  history  before,  both  give  a  stern  "  No,"  in  reply 
to  the  question.  Shall  we  rise  again  ? 

Six  thousand  years  of  human  existence  have  passed 
away,  —  countless  armies  of  the  dead  have  set  sail 
from  the  shores  of  time.  No  traveller  has  returned 
from  the  still  land  beyond.  More  than  one  hundred 
and  fifty  generations  have  done  their  work,  and  sunk 
into  the  dust  again,  and  still  there  is  not  a  voice,  there 
is  not  a  whisper,  from  the  grave,  to  tell  us  whether, 
indeed,  those  myriads  are  in  existence  still.  Besides, 
why  should  they  be  ?  Talk  as  you  will  of  the  grand- 
eur of  man,  why  should  it  not  be  honor  enough  for 
him  —  more  than  enough  to  satisfy  a  thing  so  mean  — 
to  have  had  his  twenty  or  his  seventy  years'  life-rent 
of  God's  universe?  Why  must  such  a  thing,  apart 
from  proof,  rise  up  and  claim  to  himself  an  exclusive 
immortality?  Man's  majesty  !  man's  worth  !  —  the  dif- 
ference between  him  and  the  elephant  or  ape  is  too 
degradingly  small  to  venture  much  on.  That  is  not 
all ;  instead  of  looking  backwards,  now  look  forwards. 
The  wisest  thinkers  tell  us  that  there  are  already  on 
the  globe  traces  of  a  demonstration  that  the  human 
race  is  drawing  to  its  close.  Each  of  the  great  human 
families  has  had  its  day,  —  its  infancy,  its  manhood,  its 
decline.  The  two  last  races  that  have  not  been  tried 
are  on  the  stage  of  earth,  doing  their  work  now. 
There  is  no  other  to  succeed  them.  Man  is  but  of 
Yesterday,  and  yet  his  race  is  well-nigh  done.  Man  ia 
wearing  out,  as  everything  before  him  has  been  worn 


320  THE  DOUBT   OF  THOMAS. 

out.  In  a  few  more  centuries  the  crust  of  earth  will 
be  the  sepulchre  of  the  race  of  man,  as  it  has  been 
the  sepulchre  of  extinct  races  of  palm-trees,  and  ferns, 
and  gigantic  reptiles.  The  time  is  near  when  the  bones 
of  the  last  human  being  will  be  given  to  the  dust.  It 
is  historically  certain  that  man  has  quite  lately,  within 
a  few  thousand  years,  been  called  into  existence.  It 
is  certain  that,  before  very  long,  the  race  must  'je 
extinct. 

Now,  look  at  all  this  without  Christ,  and  tell  ua 
whether  it  be  possible  to  escape  such  misgivings  and 
such  reasonings  as  these,  which  rise  out  of  such  an 
aspect  of  things.  Man,  this  thing  of  yesterday,  which 
sprung  out  of  the  eternal  nothingness,  why  may  he 
not  sink,  after  he  has  played  his  appointed  part,  into 
nothingness  again?  You  see  the  leaves  sinking  one 
by  one  in  autumn,  till  the  heaps  below  are  rich  with 
the  spoils  of  a  whole  year's  vegetation.  They  were 
bright  and  perfect  while  they  lasted,  —  each  leaf  a  mir- 
acle of  beauty  and  contrivance.  There  is  no  resur- 
rection for  the  leaves,  —  why  must  there  be  one  for 
man?  Go  and  stand,  some  summer  evening,  by  the 
river-side :  you  will  see  the  May-fly  sporting  out  its 
little  hour,  in  dense  masses  of  insect  life,  darkening 
the  air  a  few  feet  above  the  gentle  swell  of  the  water. 
The  heat  of  that  very  afternoon  brought  them  into 
existence.  Every  gauze  wing  is  traversed  by  ten 
thousand  fibres,  which  defy  the  microscope  to  find  a 
flaw  in  their  perfection.  The  Omniscience  and  th( 
cire  bestowed  upon  that  exquisite  anatomy,  one  would 
tnink,  cannot  be  destined  to  be  wasted  in  a  moment. 
Yet  so  it  is ;  when  the  sun  has  sunk  below  the  trees, 
its  little  life  is  done.    Yesterday  it  was  not ;  to-morrow 


THE   DOUBT   OF   THOMAS.  321 

it  will  not  be.  God  has  bidden  it  be  happy  for  one 
evening.  It  has  no  right  or  claim  to  a  second ;  and  in 
the  universe  that  marvellous  life  has  appeared  once, 
and  will  appear  no  more.  May  not  the  race  of  man 
sink  like  the  generations  of  the  May-fly  ?  Why  cannot 
the  Creator  so  lavish  in  His  resources,  afford  to  anni- 
hilate souls  as  He  annihilates  insects  ?  Would  it  not 
almost  enhance  His  glory  to  believe  it? 

That,  brethren,  is  the  question ;  and  nature  has  no 
reply.  The  fearful  secret  of  sixty  centuries  has  not 
yet  found  a  voice.  The  whole  evidence  lies  before  us. 
We  know  what  the  greatest  and  wisest  have  had  to  say 
in  favor  of  an  immortality ;  and  we  know  how,  after 
eagerly  devouring  all  their  arguments,  our  hearts  have 
sunk  back  in  cold  disappointment ;  and  to  every  proof, 
as  we  read,  our  lips  have  replied,  mournfully.  That  will 
not  stand.  Search  through  tradition,  history,  the 
world  within  you  and  the  world  without,  —  except  in 
Christ  there  is  not  the  shadow  of  a  shade  of  proof  that 
man  survives  the  grave. 

I  do  not  wonder  that  Thomas,  with  that  honest,  accu- 
rate mind  of  his,  wishing  that  the  news  were  true,  yet 
dreading  lest  it  should  be  false,  and  determined  to 
guard  against  every  possible  illusion,  delusion,  and 
deception,  said,  so  strongly,  "  Except  I  shall  see  in  His 
hands  the  print  of  the  nails,  and  put  my  finger  into  the 
print  of  the  nails,  and  thrust  my  hand  into  His  side,  I 
will  not  believe." 

II.  The  Christian  proofs  of  a  Resurrection. 

This  text  tells  us  of  two  kinds  of  proof  The  first 
is  the  evidence  of  the  senses  — "  Thomas,  because 
thou  hast  seen  Me  thou  hast  believed."     The  other  is 


322  THE    DOUBT    OF   THOMAS. 

the  evidence  of  the  Spirit  — "  Blessed  are  they  that 
have  not  seen,  and  yet  have  beheved." 

Let  us  scrutinize  the  external  evidence  of  Christ's 
resurrection  which  those  verses  furnish.  It  is  a  two- 
fold evidence.  The  witness  of  the  Apostle  Thomas, 
who  was  satisfied  with  the  proofs ;  the  witness  of  St. 
John,  who  records  the  circumstance  of  his  satisfaction. 
Consider,  first,  the  witness  of  St.  John ;  try  it  by 
ordinary  rules.  Hearsay  evidence,  which  comes  sec- 
ond-hand, is  suspicious  ;  but  John's  is  no  distant,  hear- 
say story.  He  does  not  say  that  he  had  heard  the 
story  from  Thomas,  and  that  years  afterwards,  when 
the  circumstances  had  lost  their  exact,  sharp  outline,  he 
had  penned  it  down,  when  he  was  growing  old,  and  his 
memory  might  be  faihng.  Jmin  was  present  the  whole 
time.  AU  the  apostles  were  there  ;  they  all  watched 
the  result  with  eager  interest.  The  conditions  made 
by  Thomas,  without  which  he  would  not  believe,  had 
been  made  before  them  all.  They  all  heard  him  say 
that  the  demonstration  was  complete  ;  they  all  saw 
him  touch  the  wounds  ;  and  St.  John  recorded  what 
he  saw.  Now,  a  scene  like  that  is  one  of  those  solemn 
ones  in  a  man's  life  which  cannot  be  forgotten ;  it 
graves  itself  on  the  memory.  A  story  told  us  by 
another  may  be  unintentionally  altered  or  exaggerated 
in  the  repetition  ;  but  a  spectacle  like  this,  so  strange 
and  so  solemn,  could  not  be  forgotten  or  misinter- 
preted. St.  John  could  have  made  no  mistake.  Esti- 
mate next  the  worth  of  the  witness  of  Thomas  ;  *^^rv  it 
by  the  ordinary  rules  of  life.  Evidence  is  worth  little 
if  it  is  the  evidence  of  credulity.  If  you  find  a  man 
belicA  ing  every  new  story,  and  accepting  every  fresh 
disco'*  ery,  so  called,  without  scrutiny,  you  may  give  him 


THE    DOUBT    OF    THOMAS.  323 

credit  for  sincerity ;  you  cannot  rest  much  upon  his 
judgment ;  his  testimony  cannot  go  for  much.  For 
example,  when  St.  Peter,  after  his  escape  from  prison, 
knocked  at  Mark's  mother's  door,  there  went  a  maid  to 
open  it,  who  came  back  scared  and  startled  with  the 
tidings  that  she  had  seen  his  angel  or  spirit.  Had  she 
gone  about  afterwards  among  the  believers  with  that 
tale,  that  St.  Peter  was  dead  and  alive  again,  it  would 
have  been  worth  little.  Her  fears,  her  sex,  her  credu- 
lity, all  robbed  her  testimony  of  its  worth. 

Now,  the  resurrection  of  Christ  does  not  stand  ou 
such  a  footing.  There  was  one  man  who  dreaded 
the  possibility  of  delusion,  however  credulous  the 
others  might  be.  He  resolved  beforehand  that  only 
one  proof  should  be  decisive.  He  would  not  be  con- 
tented with  seeing  Christ ;  that  might  be  a  dream  —  it 
might  be  the  vision  of  a  disordered  fancy.  He  would 
not  be  satisfied  with  the  assurance  of  others.  The 
evidence  of  testimony  which  he  did  reject  was  very 
strong.  Ten  of  his  most  familiar  friends,  and  certain 
women,  gave  in  their  separate  and  their  united  testi- 
mony ;  but  against  all  that  St.  Thomas  held  out  scepti- 
cally firm.  They  might  have  been  deceived  themselves  ; 
they  might  have  been  trifling  with  him.  The  possi- 
bilities of  mistake  were  innumerable  ;  the  delusions 
of  the  best  men  about  what  they  see  are  incredible. 
He  would  trust  a  thing  so  infinitely  important  to  noth- 
ing but  his  own  scrutinizing  hand.  It  might  be  some 
one  personating  his  Master.  He  would  put  his  hands 
into  real  wounds,  or  else  hold  it  unproved.  The  alle- 
giance which  was  given  in  so  enthusiastically,  "  My 
Lord,  and  my  God,"  was  given  in  after,  and  not 
oefore    scrutiny.     -It  was  the  cautious  verdict  of  au 


324  THE    DOUBT    OF    THOMAS. 

enlightened,  suspicions,  most  earnest,  and  most  honest 
sceptic. 

Try  the  evidence  next  by  character.  Blemished 
character  damages  evidence.  Now,  the  only  charge 
that  was  ever  heard  against  the  Apostle  John  was  that 
he  loved  a  world  which  hated  him.  The  character  of 
the  Apostle  Thomas  is  that  he  was  a  man  cautious  ia 
receiving  evidence,  and  most  rigorous  in  exacting 
satisfactory  proof,  but  ready  to  act  upon  his  convic- 
tions, when  once  made,  even  to  the  death.  Love  ele- 
vated above  the  common  love  of  man,  in  the  one,  — ■ 
heroic  conscientiousness  and  a  most  rare  integrity,  in 
the  other,  —  who  impeaches  that  testimony? 

Once  more,  —  any  possibility  of  interested  motives 
will  discredit  evidence.  Ask  we  the  motive  of  John 
or  Thomas  for  this  strange  tale  ?  John's  reward,  —  a 
long  and  solitary  banishment  to  the  mines  of  Patmos. 
The  gain  and  the  bribe  which  tempted  Thomas,  —  a 
lonely  pilgrimage  to  the  far  East,  and  death  at  the  last 
in  India.  Those  were  strange  motives  to  account  for 
their  persisting  and  glorying  in  the  story  of  the  resur- 
rection to  the  last !  Starving  their  gain,  and  martyr- 
dom their  price. 

The  evidence  to  which  Thomas  yielded  was  tho 
evidence  of  the  senses,  —  touch,  and  sight,  and  hear- 
ing. Now,  the  feeling  which  arose  from  this  touching, 
and  feeling,  and  demonstration,  Christ  pronounced  to 
be  faith  :  "  Thomas,  because  thou  hast  seen  thou  hast 
believed."  There  are  some  Christian  writers  who  t(;ll 
Qs  that  the  conviction  produced  by  the  intellect  or  the 
'senses  is  not  faith ;  but  Christ  says  it  is.  Observe, 
then,  it  matters  not  how  faith  comes, — whether 
through  the  intellect,  as  in  the  case  of  St.  Thomas,  or 


THE   DOUBT   OF   THOMAS.  325 

in  the  heart,  as  in  the  case  of  St.  John,  or  as  the 
result  of  long  education,  as  in  the  case  of  St.  Peter. 
God  has  many  ways  of  bringing  different  characters 
to  faith  ;  but  that  blessed  thing  which  the  Bible  calls 
faith  is  a  state  of  soul  in  which  the  things  of  God 
become  glorious  certainties.  It  was  not  faith  which 
assured  Thomas  that  what  stood  before  him  was  the 
Christ  he  had  known  ;  that  was  sight.  But  it  was 
faith  which  from  the  visible  enabled  him  to  pierce  up 
to  the  truth  invisible  :  "  My  Lord,  and  my  God."  And 
it  was  faith  which  enabled  him,  through  all  life  after,  to 
venture  everything  on  that  conviction,  and  live  for 
One  who  had  died  for  him. 

Remark  again  this  :  The  faith  of  Thomas  was  not 
merely  satisfaction  about  a  fact ;  it  was  trust  in  a  Per- 
son. The  admission  of  a  fact,  however  sublime,  is  not 
faith ;  we  may  believe  that  Christ  is  risen,  yet  not 
be  nearer  heaven.  It  is  a  Bible  fact  that  Lazarus 
rose  from  the  grave  ;  but  belief  in  Lazarus'  resurrec- 
tion does  not  make  the  soul  better  than  it  was.  Thomas 
passed  on  from  the  fact  of  the  resurrection  to  the  Per- 
son of  the  risen  :  "  My  Lord,  and  my  God."  Trust  in 
the  risen  Saviour — that  was  the  belief  which  saved  his 
Soul. 

And  that  is  our  salvation  too.  You  may  satisfy 
yourself  about  the  evidences  of  the  resurrection ;  you 
may  bring  in  your  verdict  well,  like  a  cautious  and 
enlightened  judge  :  you  are  then  in  possession  of  a 
fact,  a  most  valuable  and  curious  fact;  but  faith  of  any 
saving  worth  you  have  not,  unless  from  the  fact  you 
pass  on,  like  Thomas,  to  cast  the  allegiance  and  the 
homage  of  your  soul,  and  the  love  of  all  your  being, 
on  Him  whom  Thomas  worshipped.  It  is  not  belief 
28 


326  THE  DOUBT   OF   THOMAS. 

about  the  Christ,  but  personal  trust  in  the  Christ  of 
God,  that  saves  the  soul. 

There  is  another  kind  of  evidence  by  which  the 
Resurrection  becomes  certain.  Not  the  evidence  of 
the  senses,  but  the  evidence  of  the  spirit :  "  Blessed 
are  they  that  have  not  seen,  and  yet  have  believed." 
There  are  thousands  of  Christians,  who  have  never 
examined  the  evidences  of  the  resurrection  piece  by 
piece ;  they  are  incapable  of  estimating  it,  if  they  did 
examine ;  they  know  nothing  about  the  laws  of  evi- 
dence ;  they  have  had  no  experience  in  balancing  the 
value  of  testimony ;  they  are  neither  lawyers  nor  phi- 
losophers ;  and  yet  these  simple  Christians  have  re- 
ceived into  their  very  souls  tlie  Resurrection  of  their 
Redeemer,  and  look  forward  to  their  own  rising  from 
the  grave  with  a  trust  as  firm,  as  steady,  and  as  saving, 
as  if  they  had  themselves  put  their  hands  into  His 
wounds. 

They  have  never  seen,  they-know  nothing  of  proofs 
and  miracles,  yet  they  beheve  and  are  blessed.  How 
is  this  ? 

I  reply,  there  is  an  inward  state  of  heart  which 
makes  truth  credible  the  moment  it  is  stated.  It  is 
credible  to  some  men  because  of  what  they  are.  Love 
is  credible  to  a  loving  heart ;  purity  is  credible  to  a 
pure  mind ;  life  is  credible  to  a  spirit  in  which  life  ever 
beats  strongly:  it  is  incredible  to  other  men.  Because 
of  that,  such  men  believe.  Of  course,  that  inward  state 
could  not  reveal  a  fact  like  the  resurrection  ;  but  it  caD 
receive  the  fact  the  moment  it  is  revealed,  without  le- 
quiring  evidence.  The  love  of  St.  John  himself  never 
could  discover  a  resurrection ;  but  it  made  a  resurrec- 
tion easily  believed,  when   the    man  of  intellect,  St, 


THE   DOUBT    OF   THOMAS.  327 

Tnomas,  found  difficulties.  Therefore  "  with  the  heart 
man  beheveth  unto  righteousness,"  and  therefore  "  he 
that  beheveth  on  the  Son  of  God  hath  the  witness  in 
himself/'  and  therefore  "  Faith  is  the  substance  of  things 
hoped  for."  Now,  it  is  of  such  a  state — a  state  of  love 
acd  hope,  which  makes  the  Divine  truth  credible  and 
natural  at  once — that  Jesus  speaks  :  "  Blessed  are  they 
that  have  not  seen,  and  yet  have  believed." 

There  are  men  in  whom  the  resurrection  begun 
makes  the  resurrection  credible.  In  them  the  spirit 
of  the  risen  Saviour  works  already ;  and  they  have 
mounted  with  Him  from  the  grave.  They  have  risen 
out  of  the  darkness  of  doubt,  and  are  expatiating  in 
the  brightness  and  the  sunshine  of  a  Day  in  which 
God  is  ever  Light.  Their  step  is  as  free  as  if  the 
clay  of  the  sepulchre  had  been  shaken  off,  and  their 
hearts  are  lighter  than  those  of  other  men,  and  there 
is  in  them  an  unearthly  triumph  which  they  are  unable 
to  express.  They  have  risen  above  the  narrowness 
of  life,  and  all  that  is  petty,  and  ungenerous,  and 
mean.  They  have  risen  above  fear, —  they  have  risen 
above  self  In  the  New  Testament  that  is  called  the 
spiritual  resurrection,  or  being  risen  with  Christ ;  and 
the  man  in  whom  all  that  is  working  has  got  something 
more  blessed  than  external  evidence  to  rest  upon.  He 
has  the  witness  in  himself;  he  has  not  seen,  and  yet  he 
has  believed ;  he  believed  in  a  resurrection,  because 
he  has  the  resurrection  in  himself  The  resurrection, 
in  all  its  heavenliness  and  unearthly  elevation,  has  be- 
gun within  his  soul;  and  he  knows,  as  clearly  as  if  he 
had  demonstration,  that  it  must  be  developed  in  an 
eternal  life. 

Now,  this  is  the  higher  and  nobler  kind  of  faith, — 


328  THE  DOUBT  OP  THOMAS. 

a  faith  more  blessed  than  that  of  Thomas.  "  Because 
thou  hast  seen  Me,  thou  hast  believed."  There  are 
times  when  we  envy,  as  possessed  of  higher  privileges, 
those  who  saw  Christ  in  the  flesh  ;  we  think  that  if  we 
could  have  heard  that  calm  voice,  or  seen  that  blessed 
presence,  or  touched  those  lacerated  wounds  in  His 
sacred  flesh,  all  doubt  would  be  set  at  rest  forever. 
Therefore,  these  words  must  be  our  corrective.  God 
has  granted  us  the  possibility  of  believing  in  a  more 
trustful  and  more  generous  way  than  if  we  saw.  To 
believe,  not  because  we  are  learned  and  can  prove,  but 
because  there  is  a  something  in  us,  even  God's  own 
Spirit,  which  makes  us  feel  light  as  light,  and  truth  aa 
true,  —  that  is  the  blessed  faith. 

Blessed,  because  it  carries  with  it  spiritual  elevation 
of  character.  Narrow  the  prospects  of  man  to  this 
time-world,  and  it  is  impossible  to  escape  the  conclu- 
sions of  the  Epicurean  sensualist.  If  to-morrow  we 
die,  let  us  eat  and  drink  to-day.  If  we  die  the  sinner's 
death,  it  becomes  a  matter  of  mere  taste  whether  we 
shall  live  the  sinner's  life  or  not.  But,  if  our  exist 
ence  is  forever,  then,  plainly,  that  which  is  to  be  daily 
subdued  and  subordinated  is  the  animal  within  us  ;  that 
which  is  to  be  cherished  is  that  which  is  likest  God 
Avithin  us, —  which  we  have  from  Him,  and  which  is 
the  sole  pledge  of  eternal  being  in  spirit-life. 


XXII. 

[Preached  May  8,  1853. J 

THE   IRREPARABLE    PAST. 

Mabk  xiv.  41,  42,  — "  And  he  cometh  the  third  time,  and  saith  onto 
them.  Sleep  on  now,  and  take  your  rest  ;  it  is  enough,  the  hour  is 
come  ;  behold  the  Son  of  man  is  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  sinners. 
Rise  up,  let  us  go  ;  lo,  he  that  betray eth  me  is  at  hand." 

It  is  upon  two  sentences  of  this  passage  that  our 
attention  is  to  be  fixed  to-day,  —  sentences  which  in 
themselves  are  apparently  contradictory,  but  which 
are  pregnant  with  a  lesson  of  the  deepest  practical 
import.  Looked  at  in  the  mere  meaning  of  the  words 
as  they  stand,  our  Lord's  first  command,  given  to  His 
disciples,  "  Sleep  on  now,  and  take  your  rest,"  is  in- 
consistent with  the  second  command,  which  follows 
almost  in  the  same  breath,  "  Rise,  let  us  be  going."  A 
permission  to  slumber,  and  a  warning  to  arouse  at 
once,  are  injunctions  which  can  scarcely  stand  to- 
gether in  the  same  sentence  consistently. 

Our  first  inquiry  therefore  is,  what  did  our  Re- 
deemer mean  ?  We  shall  arrive  at  the  true  solution 
of  this  difficulty  if  we  review  the  circumstances  under 
which  these  words  were  spoken.  The  account  with 
which  these  verses  stand  connected  belongs  to  one 
of  the  last  scenes  in  the  drama  of  our  Master's  earthly 
pilgrimage ;  it  is  found  in  the  history  of  the  trial-hour 
28*  (829) 


330  THE   IRREPARABLE   PAST. 

which  was  passed  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane.  And 
an  hour  it  was  indeed  big  with  the  destinies  of  the 
world,  for  the  command  had  gone  forth  to  seize  the 
Saviour's  person ;  but  the  Saviour  was  still  at  large 
and  free.  Upon  the  success  or  the  frustration  of  that 
plan  the  world's  fate  was  trembling.  Three  men  were 
selected  to  be  witnesses  of  the  sufferings  of  that  hour, — 
three  men,  the  favored  ones  on  all  occasions  of  the 
apostolic  band,  —  and  the  single  injunction  which  had 
been  laid  upon  them  was,  "  Watch  with  me  one  hour." 
That  charge  to  watch  or  keep  awake  seems  to  have 
been  given  with  two  ends  in  view.  He  asked  them 
to  keep  awake,  first  that  they  might  sympathize  with 
Him.  He  commanded  them  to  keep  awake,  that  they 
might  be  on  their  guard  against  surprise ;  that  they 
might  afford  sympathy,  because  never  in  all  His  career 
did  Christ  more  stand  in  need  of  such  soothing  as  it 
was  in  the  power  of  man  to  give.  It  is  true  that  was 
not  much ;  the  struggle,  and  the  agony,  and  the  mak- 
ing up  of  the  mind  to  death,  had  something  in  them 
too  Divine  and  too  mysterious  to  be  understood  by  the 
disciples,  and  therefore  sympathy  could  but  reach  a 
portion  of  what  our  Redeemer  felt.  Yet  still  it  ap- 
pears to  have  been  an  additional  pang  in  Christ  s 
anguish  to  find  that  He  was  left  thoroughly  alone,  to 
endure,  while  even  His  own  friends  did  not  compas- 
sionate His  endurance.  We  know  what  a  relief  it  is 
to  see  the  honest,  affectionate  face  of  a  menial  servant, 
or  some  poor  dependant,  regretting  that  your  sufieriug 
may  be  infinitely  above  his  comprehension.  It  may 
be  a  secret  which  you  cannot  impart  to  him ;  or  it 
may  be  a  mental  distress  which  his  mind  is  too  unedu- 
cated to  appreciate  ;  yet  still  his  sympathy  in  your 


THE  IRREPARABLE   PAST.  331 

dark  hour  is  worth  a  world.  "What  you  suffer  he 
knows  not;  but  he  knows  you  do  suffer,  and  it  pains 
him  to  think  of  it ;  there  is  balm  to  you  in  that.  This 
is  the  power  of  sympathy.  We  can  do  little  for  one 
another  in  this  world.  Little,  very  little,  can  be  done 
when  the  worst  must  come;  but  yet,  to  know  that  the 
pulses  of  a  human  heart  are  vibrating  with  yours, 
there  is  something  in  that,  let  the  distance  between 
man  and  man  be  ever  so  immeasurable,  exquisitely 
soothing.  It  was  this,  and  but  this,  in  the  way  of 
feeling,  that  Christ  asked  of  Peter,  James,  and  John. 
Watch  —  be  awake  ;  let  Me  not  feel  that  when  I  agon- 
ize, you  can  be  at  ease  and  comfortable.  But  it  would 
seem  there  was  another  thing  which  He  asked  in  the 
way  of  assistance.  The  plot  to  capture  Him  was  laid ; 
the  chance  of  that  plot's  success  lay  in  making  the 
surprise  so  sudden  as  to  cut  off  all  possibility  of 
escape.  The  hope  of  defeating  that  plot  depended 
upon  the  fidelity  of  apostolic  vigilance.  Humanly 
speaking,  had  they  been  vigilant,  they  might  have 
saved  Him.  Breathless  listening  for  the  sound  of 
footsteps  in  the  distance ;  eyes  anxiously  straining 
through  the  trees  to  distinguish  the  glitter  of  the 
lanterns ;  unremitting  apprehension  catching  from  the 
word  of  Christ  an  intimation  that  He  was  in  danger, 
and  so  giving  notice  on  the  first  approach  of  anything 
like  intrusion,  —  that  would  have  been  watching. 

That  command  to  watch  was  given  twice :  tirst, 
when  Christ  first  retired  aside,  leaving  the  disciples 
by  themselves  ;  secondly,  in  a  reproachful  way,  when 
He  returned  and  found  His  request  disregarded.  He 
waked  them  up  once  and  said,  "  What,  could  ye  not 
watch   with   Me   one   hour  ? "     He   came   again,  and 


332  THE   IRREPARABLE   PAST. 

found  their  eyes  closed  once  more.  On  that  occasion 
not  a  syllable  fell  from  His  lips ;  He  did  not  waken 
them  a  second  time.  He  passed  away,  sad  and  disap- 
pointed, and  left  them  to  their  slumbers.  But  when 
He  came  the  third  time,  it  was  no  longer  possible  for 
their  sleep  to  do  Him  harm,  or  their  watching  to  do 
Him  good.  The  precious  opportunity  was  lost  for- 
ever. Sympathy — vigilance  —  the  hour  for  these  was 
past.  The  priests  had  succeeded  in  their  surprise,  and 
Judas  had  well  led  them  through  the  dark  with  uner- 
ring accuracy,  to  the  very  spot  where  his  Master 
knelt ;  and  there  were  seen  quite  close,  the  dark 
figures  shown  in  relief  against  the  glare  of  the  red 
torchlight,  and  every  now  and  then  the  gleam  glitter- 
ing from  the  bared  steel  and  the  Roman  armor.  It 
was  all  over ;  they  might  sleep  as  they  liked ;  their 
sleeping  could  do  no  injury  now,  their  watching 
could  do  no  good.  And  therefore,  partly  in  bitterness, 
partly  in  reproach,  partly  in  a  kind  of  earnest  irony, 
partly  in  sad  earnest,  our  Master  said  to  His  disciples, 
Sleep  on  now ;  there  is  no  use  in  watching  now  ;  take 
your  rest  —  forever  if  you  will.  Sleep  and  rest  can 
do  Me  no  more  harm  now,  for  all  that  watching  might 
have  done  is  lost. 

But,  brethren,  we  have  to  observe  that  in  the  next 
sentence  our  Redeemer  addresses  Himself  to  the  con- 
siderauon  of  what  could  yet  be  done ;  th6  best  thing 
as  circumstances  then  stood.  So  far  as  any  good  to 
be  got  from  watching  went,  they  might  sleep  on ; 
there  was  no  reparation  for  the  fault  that  nad  been 
done ;  but  so  far  as  duty  went,  there  was  still  much 
of  endurance  to  which  they  had  to  rouse  themselves, 
rhey  could   not   save  their   Master,  but   they   might 


THE   IRREPARABLE    PAST.  33B 

loyally  and  manfully  share  His  disgrace,  and,  if  it  must 
be,  His  death.  They  could  not  put  off  the  penalty, 
but  they  might  steel  themselves  cheerfully  to  share  it. 
Safety  was  out  of  the  question  now  ;  but  they  might 
meet  their  fate,  instead  of  being  overwhelmed  by  it ; 
and  so,  as  respected  what  was  gone  by,  Christ  said, 
"  Sleep,"  what  is  done  cannot  be  undone ;  but  as 
respected  the  duties  that  were  lying  before  them  still, 
He  said,  We  must  make  the  best  of  it  that  can  be 
made ;  rouse  yourselves  to  dare  the  worst ;  on  to 
enact  your  parts  like  men.  Rise,  let  us  be  going, — 
we  have  something  still  left  to  do.  Here  then  we 
have  two  subjects  of  contemplation  distinctly  marked 
out  for  us. 

I.  The  irreparable  Past. 

II.  The  available  Future. 

The  words  of  Christ  are  not  like  the  words  of  other 
men;  His  sentences  do  not  end  with  the  occasion 
which  called  them  forth ;  every  sentence  of  Christ's 
is  a  deep  principle  of  human  life,  and  it  is  so  with 
these  sentences.  "  Sleep  on  now,"  —  that  is  a  principle. 
"  Rise  up,  and  let  us  be  going,"  —  that  is  another  prin- 
ciple. The  principle  contained  in  "  Sleep  on  now  "  is 
this,  that  the  past  is  irreparable,  and  after  a  certain 
moment  waking  will  do  no  good.  You  may  improve 
the  future — the  past  is  gone  beyond  recovery.  As  to 
all  that  is  gone  by,  so  far  as  the  hope  of  altering  it 
goes,  you  may  sleep  on  and  take  your  rest ;  there  is 
no  power  in  earth  or  heaven  that  can  undo  what  has 
once  been  done. 

Now,  let  us  proceed  to  give  illustrations  of  this 
principle. 


334  THE  lEREPARABLE    PAST. 

It  is  true,  first  of  all,  with  respect  to  time  that  ia 
gone  by.  Time  is  the  solemn  inheritance  to  which 
every  man  is  bom  heir,  who  has  a  life-rent  of  this 
world,  —  a  little  section  cut  out  of  eternity  and  given 
us  to  do  our  work  in ;  an  eternity  before,  an  eternity 
behind ;  and  the  small  stream  between,  floating  swiftly 
from  the  one  into  the  vast  bosom  of  the  other.  The 
man  who  has  felt  with  all  his  soul  the  significance  of 
time  will  not  be  long  in  learning  any  lesson  that  this 
world  has  to  teach  him.  Have  you  ever  felt  it,  my 
Christian  brethren  ?  Have  you  ever  reaHzed  how 
your  own  little  streamlet  is  gliding  away,  and  bearing 
you  along  with  it  towards  that  awful  other  world,  of 
which  all  things  here  are  but  the  thin  shadows,  down 
into  that  eternity  towards  which  the  confused  wreck 
of  aU  earthly  things  is  bound?  Let  us  realize  that, 
beloved  brethren :  until  that  sensation  of  time,  and 
the  infinite  meaning  which  is  wrapped  up  in  it,  has 
taken  possession  of  our  souls,  there  is  no  chance  of 
our  ever  feeling  strongly  that  it  is  worse  than  madness 
to  sleep  that  time  away.  Every  day  in  this  world  has 
its  work ;  and  every  day,  as  it  rises  out  of  eternity, 
keeps  putting  to  each  of  us  the  question  afresh,  What 
will  you  do  before  to-day  has  sunk  into  eternity  and 
nothingness  again?  And  now  what  have  we  to  say 
with  respect  to  this  strange,  solemn  thing  —  time  ? 
That  men  do  with  it  through  hfe  just  what  the  apos- 
tles did  for  one  precious  and  irreparable  hour  of  it  in 
the  garden  of  Ge+hsemane ;  they  go  to  sleep.  Have 
you  ever  seen  those  marble  statues  in  some  public 
square  or  garden,  which  art  has  so  finished  into  a  pe- 
rennial fountain  that  through  the  lips,  or  through  the 
hands,  the  clear  water  flows  in  a  perpetual  stream,  on 


THE   IRREPARABLE    PAST.  335 

OD  and  on  forever ;  and  the  marble  stands  there  — • 
passive,  cold  —  making  no  effort  to  arrest  the  gliding 
water  ? 

It  is  so  that  time  flows  through  the  hands  of  men, — 
swift,  never  pausing  till  it  has  run  itself  out;  and 
there  is  the  man  petrified  into  a  marble  sleep,  not  feel- 
ing what  it  is  which  is  passing  away  forever.  It  is  so, 
brethren,  just  so,  that  the  destiny  of  nine  men  out  of 
ten  accomplishes  itself,  slipping  away  from  them,  aim- 
less, useless,  till  it  is  too  late.  And  this  passage  asks 
us,  with  all  the  solemn  thoughts  which  crowd  around 
an  approaching  eternity,  what  has  been  our  life,  and 
what  do  we  intend  it  shall  be  ?  Yesterday,  last  week, 
last  year,  —  they  are  gone.  Yesterday,  for  example, 
was  such  a  day  as  never  was  before,  and  never  can  be 
again.  Out  of  darkness  and  eternity  it  was  born,  a 
new,  fresh  day ;  into  darkness  and  eternity  it  sank 
again  forever.  It  had  a  voice  calling  to  us,  of  its  own. 
Its  own  work,  its  own  duties.  What  were  we  doing 
yesterday?  Idling,  whiling  away  the  time  in  light  and 
luxurious  literature,  —  not  as  life's  relaxation,  but  as 
life's  business?  thrilling  our  hearts  with  the  excite- 
ment of  hfe?  contriving  how  to  spend  the  day  most 
pleasantly  ?  Was  that  our  day  ?  Sleep,  brethren  !  all 
that  is  but  the  sleep  of  the  three  apostles.  And  now 
let  us  remember  this  :  there  is  a  day  comnig  when 
that  sleep  wiU  be  broken  rudely,  with  a  shock ;  there 
18  a  day  in  our  future  lives  when  our  time  will  be 
counted,  not  by  years,  nor  by  months,  nor  yet  by 
hours,  but  by  minutes,  —  the  day  when  unmistakable 
Bymptoms  shall  announce  that  the  Messengers  of  Death 
have  come  to  take  us. 

That  startling  moment  will  come  which  it  is  vain  to 


336  THE   IREEPAEABLE    PAST. 

attempt  to  realize  now,  when  it  will  be  felt  that  it  ia 
all  over,  at  last,  —  that  our  chance  and  our  trial  are 
past.  The  moment  that  we  have  tried  to  think  of, 
shrunk  from,  put  away  from  us,  here  it  is  —  going,  too, 
like  all  other  moments  that  have  gone  before  it ;  and 
then,  with  eyes  unsealed  at  last,  you  look  back  on  the 
life  which  is  gone  by.  There  is  no  mistake  about  it ; 
there  it  is,  a  sleep,  a  most  palpable  sleep,  —  selt 
indulged  unconsciousness  of  high  destinies,  and  God, 
and  Christ ;  a  sleep  when  Christ  was  calling  out  to 
you  to  watch  with  Him  one  hour ;  a  sleep  when  there 
was  something  to  be  done ;  a  sleep  broken,  it  may  be, 
once  or  twice  by  restless  dreams,  and  by  a  voice  of 
truth  which  would  make  itself  heard  at  times,  but  still 
a  sleep  which  was  only  rocked  into  deeper  stillness  by 
interruption.  And  now,  from  the  undone  eternity, 
the  boom  of  whose  waves  is  distinctly  audible  upon 
your  soul,  there  comes  the  same  voice  again  —  a  sol- 
emn, sad  voice  —  but  no  longer  the  same  word, 
"  Watch ;"  —  other  words  altogether,  "  You  may  go  to 
sleep."  It  is  too  late  to  wake ;  there  is  no  science  in 
earth  or  heaven  to  recall  time  that  once  has  fled. 

Again,  this  principle  of  the  irreparable  past  holds 
good  with  respect  to  preparing  for  temptation.  That 
hour  in  the  garden  was  a  precious  opportunity  given 
for  laying  in  spiritual  strength.  Christ  knew  it  well. 
He  struggled  and  fought  then  ;  therefore  there  was  no 
struggling  afterwards, — no  trembling  in  the  judgment- 
hall, —  no  shrinking  on  the  cross,  but  only  dignified 
and  calm  victory ;  for  He  had  fought  the  Temptation 
on  His  knees  beforehand,  and  conquered  all  in  the 
garden.  The  battle  of  the  Judgment-hall,  the  battle 
of  the  Cross,   were  already  fought  and  over,  in  the 


THE   IRREPARABLE    PAST.  337 

Watch,  and  in  the  Agony.  The  apostles  missed  tlie 
meaning  of  that  hour ;  and  therefore,  when  it  came  to 
the  question  of  trial,  the  loudest  boaster  of  them  all 
shrunk  from  acknowledging  Whose  he  was,  and  the 
rest  played  the  part  of  the  craven  and  the  renegade. 
And,  if  the  reason  of  this  be  asked,  it  is  simply  this : 
They  went  to  trial  unprepared ;  they  had  not  prayed ; 
and  what  is  a  Christian  without  prayer,  but  Samson 
without  his  talisman  of  hair. 

Brethren,  in  this  world,  when  there  is  any  foreseen 
or  suspected  danger  before  us,  it  is  our  duty  to  fore- 
cast our  trial.  It  is  our  wisdom  to  put  on  our  armor 
—  to  consider  what  lies  before  us  —  to  call  up  resolu- 
tion in  God's  strength  to  go  through  what  we  may 
have  to  do.  And  it  is  marvellous  how  difficulties 
smooth  away  before  a  Christian  when  he  does  this. 
Trials  that  cost  him  a  struggle  to  meet  even  in  imag- 
ination —  like  the  heavy  sweat  of  Gethsemane,  when 
Christ  was  looking  forward  and  feeling  exceeding  sor 
rowful  even  unto  death  —  come  to  their  crisis ;  and, 
behold,  to  his  astonishment  they  are  nothing, —  they 
have  been  fought  and  conquered  already.  But,  if  you 
go  to  meet  those  temptations,  not  as  Christ  did,  but  as 
the  apostles  did,  prayerless,  trusting  to  the  chance 
impulse  of  the  moment,  you  may  make  up  your  mind 
to  fail.  That  opportunity  lost  is  irreparable  ;  it  is 
your  doom  to  yield  then.  Those  words  are  true,  you 
may  "  sleep  on  now,  and  take  your  rest,"  for  you  have 
betrayed  yourself  into  the  hands  of  danger. 

And  now  one  word  about  prayer.   It  is  a  preparation 

for  danger,  it    is  the  armor  for  battle.     Go   not,  my 

Christian  brother,  into  the   dangerous  world  without 

it.     You  kneel  down  at  night  to  pray,  and  drowsiness 

29 


338  THE  IREEP ARABLE   PAST. 

weighs  down  your  eyelids.  A  hard  day's  work  is  a 
kind  of  excuse,  and  you  shorten  your  prayer,  and 
resign  yourself  softly  to  repose.  The  morning  breaks, 
and  it  may  be  you  rise  late,  and  so  your  early  devo- 
tions are  not  done,  or  done  with  irregular  haste.  No 
watching  unto  prayer,  —  wakefulness  once  more  omit- 
ted. And  now  we  ask,  is  that  reparable?  Brethren, 
we  solemnly  believe  not.  There  has  been  that  done 
which  cannot  be  undone.  You  have  given  up  your 
prayer,  and  you  will  suffer  for  it.  Temptation  is  before 
you,  and  you  are  not  fit  to  meet  it.  There  is  a  guilty 
feeling  on  the  soul,  and  you  linger  at  a  distance  from 
Christ.  It  is  no  marvel  if  that  day  in  which  you  suf- 
fered drowsiness  to  interfere  with  prayer  be  a  day  on 
which  you  betray  Him  by  cowardice  and  soft  shrink- 
ing from  duty.  Let  it  be  a  principle  through  life, 
moments  of  prayer  intruded  upon  by  sloth  cannot  be 
made  up.  We  may  get  experience,  but  we  cannot  get 
back  the  rich  freshness  and  strength  which  were 
wrapped  up  in  these  moments. 

Once  again  this  principle  is  true  in  another  respect. 
Opportunities  of  doing  good  do  not  come  back.  We 
are  here,  brethren,  for  a  most  definite  and  intelligible 
purpose,  —  to  educate  our  own  hearts  by  deeds  of 
love,  and  to  be  the  instruments  of  blessing  to  our 
brother-men.  There  are  two  ways  in  which  this  is  to 
be  done,  —  by  guarding  them  from  danger,  and  by 
tioothing  them  in  their  rough  path  by  kindly  sympa- 
thies,—  the  two  things  which  the  apostles  were  asked 
to  do  for  Christ.  And  it  is  an  encouraging  thought, 
that  he  who  cannot  do  the  one  has  at  least  the  other 
in  his  power.  If  he  cannot  protect,  he  can  sympa- 
thize.     Let  the   weakest,    let   the   humblest   iu   this 


THE   lEEEPAEABLE   PAST.  339 

congregation,  remember  that  in  his  daily  course  he 
can,  if  he  will,  shed  around  him  almost  a  heaven. 
Kindly  words,  sympathizing  attentions,  watchfulness 
against  wounding  men's  sensitiveness,  —  these  cost 
very  little,  but  they  are  priceless  in  their  value.  Are 
they  not,  brethren,  almost  the  staple  of  our  daily  happi- 
ness ?  From  hour  to  hour,  from  moment  to  moment, 
we  are  supported,  blest,  by  small  kindnesses.  And  then 
consider: — Here  is  a  section  of  life  one-third,  one- 
half,  it  may  be  three-fourths,  gone  by,  and  the  question 
before  us  is  how  much  has  been  done  in  that  way  ? 
Who  has  charged  himself  with  the  guardianship  of 
his  brother's  safety?  Who  has  laid  on  himself  as  a 
sacred  duty  to  sit  beside  his  brother  suffering  ?  0, 
my  brethren,  it  is  the  omission  of  these  things  which 
is  irreparable  1  Irreparable,  when  you  look  to  the 
purest  enjoyment  which  might  have  been  your  own ; 
irreparable,  when  you  consider  the  compunction  which 
belongs  to  deeds  of  love  not  done ;  irreparable,  when 
you  look  to  this  groaning  world,  and  feel  that  its  agony 
of  bloody  sweat  has  been  distilling  all  night,  and  you 
were  dreaming  away  in  luxury  I  Shame,  shame  upon 
our  selfishness  !  There  is  an  infinite  voice  in  the  sin 
and  sufierings  of  earth's  millions,  which  makes  every 
idle  moment — every  moment,  that  is,  which  is  not  relax- 
ation—  guilt;  and  seems  to  cry  out,  If  you  will  not 
bestir  yourself  for  love's  sake  now,  it  will  soon  be  too 
late. 

Lastly,  this  principle  applies  to  a  misspent  youth. 
There  is  something  very  remarkable  in  the  picture 
which  is  placed  before  us.  There  is  a  picture  of  Ont 
struggling,  toiling,  standing  between  others  and  dan- 
ger, and  those  others  quietly  content  to  reap  the  ben- 


340  THE   lEEEPAEABLE   PAST. 

efit  of  that  struggle  without  anxiety  of  their  own.  AnJ 
there  is  something  in  this  singularly  like  the  position  in 
which  all  young  persons  are  placed.  The  young  are^ 
by  God's  Providence,  exempted  in  a  great  measure 
from  anxiety  ;  they  are  as  the  apostles  were  in  relation 
to  their  Master  ;  their  friends  stand  between  them  and 
the  struggle  of  existence.  They  are  not  called  upon 
to  think  for  themselves  ;  the  burden  is  borne  by  others. 
They  get  their  bread  without  knowing  or  caring  how 
it  is  paid  for  ;  they  smile  and  laugh  without  a  suspicion 
of  the  anxious  thoughts  of  day  and  night  which  a 
parent  bears  to  enable  them  to  smile.  So  to  speak 
they  are  sleeping,  —  and  it  is  not  a  guilty  sleep, — 
while  another  watches. 

My  young  brethren,  youth  is  one  of  the  precious 
opportunities  of  life,  rich  in  blessing  if  you  choose  to 
make  it  so,  but  having  in  it  the  materials  of  undying 
remorse  if  you  suffer  it  to  pass  unimproved.  Your 
quiet  Gethsemane  is  now.  Gethsemane's  struggles 
you  cannot  know  yet.  Take  care  that  you  do  not 
learn  too  well  Gethsemane's  sleep.  Do  you  know  how 
you  can  imitate  the  apostles  in  their  fatal  sleep?  You 
can  suffer  your  young  days  to  pass  idly  and  uselessly 
away ;  you  can  live  as  if  you  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
enjoy  yourselves ;  you  can  let  others  think  for  you, 
and  not  try  to  become  thoughtful  yourselves,  till  the 
business  and  the  difficulties  of  life  come  upon  you 
unprepared,  and  you  find  yourselves,  like  men  waking 
from  sleep,  hurried,  confused,  scarcely  able  to  stand, 
with  all  the  faculties  bewildered,  not  knowing  right 
from  wrong,  led  headlong  to  evil,  just  because  you 
have  not  given  yourselves  in  time  to  learn  what  is 
good.     All  that  is  sleep.     And  now,  let  us   mark   it. 


THE   IRREPARABLE   PAST.  341 

You  cannot  repair  that  in  after-life.  0 !  remember, 
every  period  of  human  life  has  its  own  lesson,  and  you 
cannot  learn  that  lesson  in  the  next  period.  The  boy 
has  one  set  of  lessons  to  learn,  and  the  young  man 
another,  and  the  grown-up  man  another.  Let  us  con- 
sider one  single  instance.  The  boy  has  to  learn 
docility,  gentleness  of  temper,  reverence,  submission. 
All  those  feelings  which  are  to  be  transferred  after- 
wards in  full  cultivation  to  God,  like  plants  nursed  in 
a  hot-bed  and  then  planted  out,  are  to  be  cultivated 
first  in  youth.  Afterwards,  those  habits  which  have 
been  merely  habits  of  obedience  to  an  earthly  parent 
are  to  become  religious  submission  to  a  Heavenly 
Parent.  Our  parents  stand  to  us  in  the  place  of  God. 
Veneration  for  our  parents  is  intended  to  become 
afterwards  adoration  for  something  higher.  Take  that 
•single  instance ;  and  now  suppose  that  that  is  not 
learnt  in  boyhood.  Suppose  that  the  boy  sleeps  to 
that  duty  of  veneration,  and  learns  only  flippancy, 
insubordination,  and  the  habit  of  deceiving  his  father, — 
can  that,  my  young  brethren,  be  repaired  afterwards  ? 
Humanly  speaking,  not.  Life  is  like  the  transition  from 
class  to  class  in  a  school.  The  schoolboy  who  has  not 
learnt  arithmetic  in  the  earlier  classes  cannot  secure 
it  when  he  comes  to  mechanics  in  the  higher;  each 
section  has  its  own  sufficient  work.  He  may  be  a 
good  philosopher  or  a  good  historian,  but  a  bad  arith- 
metician he  remains  for  life ;  for  he  cannot  lay  the 
foundation  at  the  moment  when  he  must  be  building 
the  superstructure.  The  regiment  which  has  not  per- 
fected itself  in  its  manreuvrcs  on  the  parade-ground 
cannot  learn  them  before  the  guns  of  the  enemy. 
And,  just  in  the  same  way,  the  young  person  wlio  haa 
29* 


342  THE   IRREPARABLE    PAST. 

slept  bis  youth,  away,  and  become  idle  and  selfisb  and 
hard,  cannot  make  up  for  tbat  afterwards.  He  may  do 
sometbing;  be  may  be  rebgious.  Yes;  but  be  cannot 
be  wbat  be  migbt  bave  been.  There  is  a  part  of  his 
heart  which  will  remain  uncultivated  to  the  end.  The 
apostles  could  share  their  Master's  sufferings ;  they 
could  not  save  Him.     Youth  has  its  irreparable  past. 

And,  therefore,  my  young  brethren,  let  it  be  im- 
pressed upon  you  —  NOW  is  a  time,  infinite  in  its  value 
for  eternity,  which  will  never  return  again.  Sleep 
not ;  learn  that  there  is  a  very  solemn  work  of  heart 
which  must  be  done  while  the  stillness  of  the  garden 
of  your  Gethsemane  gives  you  time.    Now  —  or  never. 

The  treasures  at  your  command  are  infinite  —  treas- 
ures of  time,  treasures  of  youth,  treasures  of  oppor- 
tunity, that  grown-up  men  would  sacrifice  everything 
they  bave  to  possess.  0,  for  ten  years  of  youth  back 
again,  with  the  added  experience  of  age  !  But  it  can- 
not be ;  they  must  be  content  to  sleep  on  now,  and 
take  their  rest. 

We  are  to  pass  on  next  to  a  few  remarks  on  the 
other  sentence  in  this  passage,  which  brings  before  us, 
for  consideration,  the  future,  which  is  still  available ; 
for  we  are  to  observe  that  our  Master  did  not  limit 
bis  apostles  to  a  regretful  recollection  of  their  failure. 
Recollection  of  it  He  did  demand.  There  were  the 
materials  of  a  most  cutting  self-reproach  in  the  few 
words  He  said  ;  for  they  contained  all  the  desolation 
of  that  sad  word  never.  Who  knows  not  what  that 
word  wraps  up  —  Never  —  it  never  can  be  undone  ! 
Sleep  on.  But  yet  there  was  no  sickly  lingering  over 
the  irreparable.  Our  Master's  words  are  the  words 
of  one  who  had  fully  recognized  the  h  pelessness  of 


THE    IRREPARABLE   PAST.  343 

his  position,  but  yet  manfully  and  calmly  had  numbered 
his  resources,  and  scanned  his  duties,  and  then  braced 
up  his  mind  to  meet  the  exigences  of  his  situation 
with  no  passive  endurance ;  the  moment  was  come  for 
action :  "  Rise,  let  us  be  going." 

Now,  the  broad  general  lesson  which  we  gain  from 
this  is  not  hard  to  read.  It  is  that  a  Christian  is  to  be 
forever  rousing  himself  to  recognize  the  duties  which 
lie  before  him  noio.  In  Christ  the  motto  is  ever  this  : 
"  Let  us  be  going."  Let  me  speak  to  the  conscience 
of  some  one.  Perhaps  yours  is  a  very  remorseful  past, 
—  a  foolish,  frivolous,  disgraceful,  frittered  past.  Well, 
Christ  says.  My  servant,  be  sad,  but  no  languor;  there 
is  work  to  be  done  for  me  yet.  Rise  up,  be  going ! 
0,  my  brethren,  Christ  takes  your  wretched  remnants 
of  life,  the  feeble  pulses  of  a  heart  which  has  spent  its 
best  hours,  not  for  Him,  but  for  self  and  for  enjoy- 
ment, and,  in  His  strange  love.  He  condescends  to 
accept  them. 

Let  me  speak  to  another  kind  of  experience.  Per- 
haps we  feel  that  we  have  faculties  which  never  have 
and  now  never  will  find  their  right  field ;  perhaps  we 
are  ignorant  of  many  things  which  cannot  be  learnt 
now;  perhaps  the  seed-time  of  life  has  gone  by,  and 
certain  powers  of  heart  and  mind  will  not  grow  now ; 
perhaps  you  feel  that  the  best  days  of  life  are  gone, 
and  it  is  too  late  to  begin  tilings  which  were  in  your 
power  once.  Still,  my  repentant  brother,  there  is 
encouragement  from  your  Master  yet.  Wake  to  the 
opportunities  that  yet  remain.  Ten  years  of  life  — 
five  years  —  one  year  —  say  you  have  only  that, — 
Will  you  sleep  that  away  because  you  have  already 
slept  too  long?     Eternity  is  crying  out  to  you  louder 


344  THE   IRREPARABLE    PAST. 

and  louder,  as  you  near  its  brink,  Rise,  be  going; 
count  your  resources  ;  learn  what  you  are  not  fit  for, 
and  give  up  wishing  for  it ;  learn  what  you  can  do, 
and  do  it  with  the  energy  of  a  man.  That  is  the  great 
lesson  of  this  passage.  But  now  consider  it  a  little 
more  closely. 

Christ  impressed  two  things  on  His  apostles'  minds. 
1.  The  duty  of  Christian  earnestness  —  "Rise."  2. 
The  duty  of  Christian  energy  —  "  Let  us  be  going." 

Christ  roused  them  to  earnestness  when  He  said, 
"  Rise."  A  short,  sharp,  rousing  call.  They  were  to 
start  up  and  wake  to  the  realities  of  their  position. 
The  guards  were  on  them ;  their  Master  was  about 
to  be  led  away  to  doom.  That  was  an  awakening 
which  would  make  men  spring  to  their  feet  in  earnest. 
Brethren,  goodness  and  earnestness  are  nearly  the 
same  thing.  In  the  language  in  which  this  Bible  was 
written  there  was  one  word  which  expressed  them 
both ;  what  we  translate  a  good  man,  in  Greek  is 
literally  "  earnest."  The  Greeks  felt  that  to  be  earnest 
was  nearly  identical  with  being  good.  But,  however, 
there  is  a  day  in  life  when  a  man  must  be  earnest,  but 
it  does  not  follow  that  he  will  be  good.  "  Behold  the 
bridegroom  cometh  ;  go  ye  out  to  meet  him."  That  is 
a  sound  that  will  thunder  through  the  most  fast-locked 
slumber,  and  rouse  men  wh'om  sermons  cannot  rouse. 
But  that  will  not  make  them  holy.  Earnestness  ol 
life,  brethren,  that  is  goodness.  Wake  in  death  you 
must,  for  it  is  an  earnest  thing  to  die.  Shall  it  be  this, 
I  pray  you  ?  Shall  it  be  the  voice  of  death  which  first 
says,  "  Arise,"  at  the  very  moment  when  it  says, "  Sleep 
on  forever"?  Shall  it  be  the  bridal  train  sweeping 
by,  and  the  shutting  of  the  doors,  and  the  discovery 


THE  lEREPARABLE   PAST.  345 

that  the  lamp  is  gone  out  ?  Shall  that  be  the  first  time 
you  know  that  it  is  an  earnest  thing  to  live  ?  Let  us 
feel  that  we  have  been  doing ;  learn  what  time  is  — 
sliding  from  you,  and  not  stopping  when  you  stop; 
learn  what  sin  is  ;  learn  what  "  never  "  is :  "  Awake, 
thou  that  sleepest." 

Lastly,  Christian  energy  —  "  Let  us  be  going." 
There  were  two  ways  open  to  Christ  in  which  to 
submit  to  His  doom.  He  might  have  waited  for  it; 
instead  of  which,  He  went  to  meet  the  soldiers.  He 
took  up  the  Cross.  The  cup  of  anguish  was  not  forced 
between  his  lips  ;  He  took  it  with  His  own  hands,  and 
drained  it  quickly  to  the  last  drop.  In  after-years  the 
disciples  understood  the  lesson,  and  acted  on  it.  They 
did  not  wait  till  Persecution  overtook  them :  they 
braved  the  Sanhedrim;  they  fronted  the  world;  they 
proclaimed  aloud  the  unpopular  and  unpalatable  doc- 
trines of  the  Resurrection  and  the  Cross.  Now,  in 
this  there  lies  a  principle.  Under  no  conceivable  set 
of  circumstances  are  we  justified  in  sitting 

•'  By  the  poisoned  springs  of  life, 

Waiting  for  the  morrow  which  shall  free  ua  from  the  strife." 

Under  no  circumstances,  whether  of  pain,  or  grief,  or 
disappointment,  or  irreparable  mistake,  can  it  be  true 
that  there  is  not  something  to  be  done,  as  well  as 
something  to  be  suffered.  And  thus  it  is  that  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  draws  over  our  life,  not  a  leaden 
cloud  of  Remorse  and  Despondency,  but  a  sky  —  not, 
perhaps,  of  radiant,  but  yet  of  most  serene  and 
chastened  and  manly  hope.  There  is  a  Past  which  is 
gone  forever.  But  there  is  a  Future  which  is  still  oui 
own. 


3  1 158  0127508C 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIO'. 


^fiRv  caciLITY 


AA    000  979  244    i 


